The Keeper's Watch
by Amethyst Hunter
Summary: When a mysterious visitor appears on Akabane's doorstep, he's left to play sitter while fighting to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.
1. Houseguest

Title: The Keeper's Watch

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

-- According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

-- Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

The knocking was slight but intent: three quiet raps on the door followed by an obligatory silence. When no answer was forthcoming, the sequence repeated itself, once, twice, before the homeowner deigned to investigate.

Kuroudo Akabane closed the book he was reading and listened for the sound again, frowning. He did not encourage casual visitors. On average, he disliked most people, finding them to be annoying and trivial in their habits, and expressions thereof. He preferred the solitude of his quiet woodland cottage, away from the city's detritus and noise. Anyone to come calling, much less at this hour of night, was either a wayward soul or someone with malicious intent.

Akabane did not believe in cheap coincidences. Scalpels hissed from between his fingers as he laid his book aside and got up to answer the door.

He rather hoped he wouldn't have to kill anyone tonight. Not because he had any moral opposition to it – his chosen profession gave him ample opportunity to indulge certain of his proclivities. He simply wasn't looking forward to the hassle of locating a suitable disposal service to clean up the inevitable mess, nor was he willing to forgo that convenience by permitting the remains to linger. He prided himself on keeping a tidy nest and the presence of decomposing corpses would have spoiled the purity of his retreat.

The knocking came again, no louder than it had been before. Akabane suspected that whoever it was already knew he was home; they were trying the polite approach first before resorting to the cruder break-and-enter method. Then, it was not an ordinary thug come to attack. Of the associates he knew in the underworld business, few were as given to proper manners as he was. Most yakuza only paid lip service to respectful tenets, and dealt with their problems in timely but brutal fashion.

In spite of the inconvenience, Akabane allowed a tiny smile to creep along his lips. Perhaps he would be fortunate, and the opponent would prove a decent challenge. It had been a while. His favorite playmates had been kept unusually busy by a flurry of assignments. They seldom had time for him these days, a fact which sorely disappointed Akabane.

He stepped up to the door and looked into the peephole. Nothing was out there except the ink of nightfall. Then the knocking came, low, insistent. Akabane raised a brow. The sound had come from the lower half of the door, denoting someone of short stature. Curious as to what kind of assassin could be that small, he chose to risk discovery. Still sporting a fistful of knives poised to attack, he unlocked the door and pulled it open, keeping to the backside of it in case of a nasty surprise.

Nothing happened, and he peered through the crack by the door's hinges to catch a glimpse of the source. Surprise drew his brows together in a crinkled knit. A child of about five or six stood huddled on the steps, arms wrapped tightly around a worn blanket that looked to be just as dampened by the night's drizzle as the rest of the small form. No coat was visible, which further puzzled him as it was drawing near the winter season and nights were decidedly uncomfortable without a thick layer of clothing.

When the dark head lifted, large brown eyes set in a pale face were visible, and Akabane could see that it was a little girl. Hardly assassin material.

He came around the other side of the door, hiding his hand with the scalpels behind his back, still not entirely certain that this wasn't some sort of trick. "Good evening. Can I help you?" he inquired calmly.

The little girl slowly tipped her head back to look up at him. An adorable child she was, to be sure, or would certainly be if dry and cleaned up. She stared at him with the typical candor of those young enough to be impressed by anything but not yet old enough to understand societal niceties such as refraining from inappropriate eye contact. Then she walked into his house.

Akabane blocked her path and smiled pleasantly at her. "It's not polite to enter someone else's dwelling when they haven't yet granted permission," he said. "Where are your parents?"

The child didn't answer. She stood, silent, not looking at him now but at the floor, clutching her blanket as if it was some sort of lifeline. From time to time her fragile form trembled, though she tried not to move.

Akabane frowned as he mulled his options. This was interesting, but not the type of intrigue he favored. He stepped around the girl, through the doorway, and studied the forbidding darkness at the entrance to his hearth. Nothing was out there that he could tell posed any threat, and he wasn't sensing anything out of the ordinary that might have hinted at lurking treachery. He gave one last look around, and then sheathed his scalpels. He went back inside and closed and relocked the door.

The child was still rooted to the spot he'd left her at. What to do now? Make the best of it, he supposed.

Akabane approached her again, this time kneeling in front to put himself more at her level. "Where did you come from, little one? It's awfully late and not very hospitable weather for wandering out in the woods, hmm?"

She didn't answer him, and he wasn't really expecting her to. The girl seemed lost in a world of her own, only interacting with this plane when necessary. Her gaze was clear but plainly focused elsewhere.

Nevertheless, Akabane tried again. "Do you have a name, child?"

Still no reply.

He could have gotten irritated, could have made clear in no uncertain terms that her reticence was testing his patience. But it wouldn't have served any purpose, and for some reason he found that he was reluctant to coerce the girl into obeying. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place just whom yet. A silly whim, he knew. Akabane was hardly concerned with relationships, and felt that he was (mostly) above the weakness of human emotion.

Even so, he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the wretched creature that was apparently seeking shelter under his roof this night. If only she knew what sort of devil inhabited this haven, she surely would have expired from sheer terror. Rather like a foundling animal that had, either unwittingly or unconsciously, chosen the lair of a serpent as her final resting place, he thought.

Despite these musings he had no intention of harming her. A man had to have some principles, after all. Resigning himself to the fact that he had a stray on his hands, Akabane rose and offered a hand to the girl. When she didn't take it, he reached for one of hers, and gently towed her along to the spare bedroom.

"Now, then," he spoke kindly to the child. "First thing we need to do is dry you off. You'll catch a chill from being out in this damp weather." She was still quiet, but he imagined that the sound of his voice was comforting somehow, and so he continued to speak as if she was active in the conversation. "I'm not sure whether you've had anything to eat, but if you like, I might have some soup waiting in the kitchen afterwards."

She stood still while he examined her clothes – a navy jumper dress with a long-sleeved blouse - and determined that only the top layers were wet enough to warrant immediate removal. Aside from the rain, they weren't damaged or dirtied, so he took hangars from the closet and hung them up in the bathroom to dry. Her undergarments were fine, but she would need something more substantial to sleep in. After judicious searching, Akabane found a clean pajama top that he hadn't worn in a while, and dressed the girl in it once he'd toweled her hair and extremities off. It was ridiculously oversized on her, but it would have to do.

"Better," he declared, watching as she balled up her fists in the voluminous sleeves. Her blanket had likewise been hung in the bathroom to drip dry. "Would you like something to eat now?" Without waiting for a response, be it of more silence or an actual vocalization, he led her back out to the kitchen and seated her at the table.

He had to stack several large books on the chair so that she could reach the countertop. He was pleased to note that she kept her elbows quite properly off the table, and sat with hands folded in lap as if genuflecting. Whoever she was, wherever she'd come from, she had obviously been taught good behavior. Mostly, he reflected with a wry smile, remembering the bold way she'd up and walked inside his house without first having been asked.

He kept talking to her while he looked through the cupboards in his pantry for something suitable to a child's palate. "You're very fortunate that you ended up here instead of lost in the forest. We're a long ways from the city, dear, and there are plenty of dangerous animals in the wild." Like Doctor Jackal, for instance. "I shall have to have a few words with your family about their lack of proper supervision."

Akabane picked out a can of the parent's perennial favorite, chicken noodle soup. He looked to see if the girl was watching him. She wasn't. He turned his back to her and the scalpel slid noiselessly into his gloved fingers. He could have done it the conventional way, but sometimes this was just easier. A swipe later, the can was neatly opened, and he carried it over to the stove, where he poured the contents into a pan and began heating it.

While they waited for the soup to warm Akabane went back to the bathroom and inspected the child's belongings more closely. As he'd suspected, there was writing on one corner of the blanket. He squinted at the faded marks.

"Mathilda," he said upon returning to the kitchen and his young charge. "Is that your name? It's very pretty." He checked the soup and stirred it. "You may call me Akabane-san." A cursory glance proved that the food was ready, and he shut off the burner. When he'd poured a bowl for her and fetched a glass of water as well, he brought along a bottle of red wine plucked from the nearby rack. That was for him, since he usually enjoyed a small glass of it shortly before adjourning to bed.

"Be careful, now. It's hot. Blow on it just a little before you eat." He helped her roll up the long sleeves of the pajama top so she wouldn't get them in the bowl.

He sipped his glass and watched while she tentatively nibbled at each spoonful she took; he was glad that she was cognizant enough of her surroundings to be able to feed herself. Akabane pondered what he was going to do with her in the meantime. She would have to stay the night, of course. In the morning they would pay a visit to Shinjuku, and locate the proper authorities.

Akabane chose to ignore the nagging impression that the girl had no guardians who would readily be found. He was willing to play foster parent, but only for a limited time. His habits and lifestyle weren't conducive to long-term babysitting. His associate Lady Poison might be more amenable to such, but she would probably turn down the offer on much the same grounds as he claimed, and he preferred not to impose upon her if it could be helped.

The girl – Mathilda, he reminded himself – ate about half of the soup before stopping and resuming her motionless vigil. She didn't swing her feet idly or fidget or fuss like most five-year-olds were wont to, and Akabane found himself wondering more. It wasn't the Professor her shadowy mannerisms reminded him so much of as it was another person he imagined, someone whom he believed would have exhibited the same withdrawal in certain circumstances.

As Ginji-kun wasn't available for comment, he set his thoughts aside and focused on the present.

"Finished? There's a good girl," he said, helping her down from the seat. "Run along to the bedroom, now, and I'll be by shortly to help you brush your teeth and tuck you in for the night." Trusting that she would follow his directions, Akabane gathered up the remnants of their dining and set to washing the dirtied dishes.

That task accomplished, he went to the spare room to check on Mathilda and found her attempting to climb into the bed, not getting very far due to the height gap and her apparent mental disconnection. He chuckled and went to catch her. "Not just yet, little one," he said. "You'll need to brush your teeth before going to sleep. We can't have you neglecting your dental health."

By now he was feeling rather sleepy himself, so to expedite the process Akabane picked her up and carried her into the nearby bathroom. She seemed to enjoy this, cleaving to his side like a limpet, and slid bonelessly from his arms when he set her in front of the sink.

"I'm afraid I don't have an extra toothbrush. But, for tonight, we'll make do with this," he explained as he took out a clean washcloth from the linen closet and dampened it with some water before putting a dab of paste on one corner. "Here you go, Mathilda-chan. Rub it over your teeth – yes, like that – and be sure to get back behind your molars, there."

Deciding that this was also a good time for him to attend to his own nightly rituals, he left her with the promise that he'd return soon, and went to his bedroom. A change of clothes and completed toilette later, he went through the house and turned off any remaining lights, and returned to help Mathilda rinse out the used toothpaste and finish washing up. As before, she clung to him when he scooped her up and took her back to the spare room. She weighed almost nothing in his hold, despite clearly being a healthy child.

"I'll leave a light on in the hallway in case you wake during the night," Akabane told her, laying her on the mattress after having pulled down the covers for her to climb in beneath. "My room is just down the hall here. The door will be shut, so if you need something, be sure to knock first." He held back a grim smile as he administered the cautionary note, not out of respect for manners but in regards to safety. He would hate for the poor girl to find out the hard way that he didn't take kindly to being unexpectedly roused. Maguruma had done that once during the early days of their association and almost lost an arm because of it.

Mathilda's eyelids drooped and she yawned while he pulled the blankets up on top of her, making sure that she was comfortable. For the first time since she'd entered his house, she looked directly at him, and seemed to _see_ him instead of through him. Intrigued, Akabane bent closer, meeting her eyes, and then the contact was broken when she withdrew once more into her unseen shell. Curious, that.

He straightened and smiled at her. "Good night. Sleep well," he said, turning out the light and leaving her to dream whatever tender innocence inhabited children's slumbering visions.

In the hallway, he located a small night-light and plugged it into an outlet. Its ivory glow assured him that Mathilda would have plenty of illumination to navigate should she require assistance.

Akabane returned to his own room, closing but not latching the door. It hadn't occurred to him then if she'd noticed the scars on his hands – out of habit, he'd removed his gloves when changing into his pajamas – and now he wondered idly what she thought of them, if she had seen them. Not that it mattered; very few people were afforded that privilege and those that earned it knew not to speak of it in any more frank terms than Akabane would allow. In that respect, he supposed, it was likely a good thing that he'd not revealed the scars on his torso; undoubtedly they would have terrified the little girl. Except when staying someplace overnight on an assignment, he usually slept nude. For this one night, he could make an exception.

He went to close the laptop that was resting on the nightstand and paused, regarding the screen's contents thoughtfully. He made a mental note to check his emails in the morning, seeing that an informative source had sent him the latest updates on the current subject of his fascination:

The Middleman must have struck again.

Akabane lowered the laptop's case and turned off the bedroom light, shucking off his slippers as he got into bed. Stretching himself out on the sheets, he folded his arms beneath his head and gazed at the darkened ceiling.

Six times now, it had to have been, and the police – or the underworld – were no closer to solving the mystery. Akabane wondered who had been the latest unlucky transporter, and whether it was someone he or his more familiar associates had known. He supposed he would find out tomorrow. In spite of his tiredness, a thread of interest had begun to coil through his body, and he had to concentrate on unraveling it lest he be unable to sleep. He very much wanted to face the Middleman, knowing that it would be a worthwhile fight – but there was a time and place for everything, and his had not yet arrived. He could wait a while longer.

He laughed softly. Between tracking new prey and a surprise houseguest, he had his hands full. "Things are getting interesting around here, hmm?" he mused to the furry ribbon that had snuck out from under the bed and leapt up to curl by his side. Unimpressed, the cat meowed its droll agreement, and settled in to sleep.

Akabane closed his eyes and drew the covers over himself, and drifted off into his own mists of simple yet bloody dreamscapes.

--

TBC


	2. Good Morning

Title: The Keeper's Watch (chapter 2)  
Author: Amethyst Hunter  
Rating: R (violence, adult content)  
Warnings/Spoilers: See above.  
Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.  
- According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.  
- Also, the name Mathilda (sometimes spelled Matilda) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!  
Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.  
Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

A not-so-subtle tugging on the ends of his hair summoned him from the sands of sleep. Seshat, the cat, was making her displeasure with the late feeding schedule known. Akabane winced after the fourth rough yank that threatened to dislodge a few strands and shooed her away, stretching and yawning. It was early yet; the clock on his nightstand displayed the time as being only two past seven. Akabane lay back against the pillow, debating for several moments whether to dismiss his insistent pet's demands and catch a few more minutes of shuteye, or begin his day sooner than he would have preferred.

Then he remembered his houseguest.

Sighing, Akabane resigned himself to an early rise. He stretched again, relishing the tension in his sleek body, and got up. Seshat mewed and batted at his ankles while he made his bed. Amused by her impatience, he reached down and stroked her cheek. "Hush, now. You know I won't let you starve."

A quick trip to the kitchen where her food and water dishes were placed on a mat, and minutes later his belligerent feline was content to snuffle her way through the bit of fresh canned he'd provided. Akabane made his way down the hall to have a peek at Mathilda next.

She was still sleeping, curled into a little ball amidst the large mattress. Satisfied that she wouldn't wake just yet, he chose to go about his normal routine until his presence would be needed.

In the shower he thought about the day's plans. Perhaps while in town he could also meet with his informant and find out more about the latest Middleman attack. Then again, he mused, towing a child along would undoubtedly present a bit of a problem. He had no wish to expose Mathilda to some of the more unsavory elements his career path necessitated contact with. Still, there were compromises that could be worked out. He decided to wait and see how events progressed.

Shower finished, he toweled himself dry and completed the rest of his absolutions before returning to his bedroom to dress. He put on his trousers and shirt, but left the vest and tie for later. That done, he slid his bare feet into his slippers and picked up his cell phone to place a call.

The dispatcher assured him that a cab could be on its way to his location at the preferred time, and then Akabane inquired if it would be possible to request a particular driver. Informed that yes, this was permissible, he asked if a Gouzou Maguruma would be available, and was pleased when the dispatcher replied that he was. They finalized the scheduling and Akabane thanked the woman and ended the call.

He started to go to the kitchen to fix breakfast and then remembered, again, the sleeping child in the other room. Akabane went back to the nightstand and opened a drawer where he kept his gloves. It had occurred to him not to bother, as those were usually one of the last items he put on before leaving his house for business, but he had no desire to frighten Mathilda – or to have her become unduly curious about the marks on his palms. Thus secured, he slipped on the pair of white sheaths and went to prepare something for the both of them to eat.

Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and toast for him and oatmeal for her. Akabane poured a glass of juice in addition to the bowl of oatmeal for Mathilda, and set these items on a small tray. He picked up a napkin and tucked that to one side, and after a quick glance to ascertain that everything was as should be he carried the tray to the table and set their places. Then he went to wake his charge.

"Mathilda-chan?" He knocked lightly on the door before pushing it aside. "Are you awake?"

She was. The small mass of covers stirred, and a slightly ruffled mop of dark hair emerged. Mathilda blinked, not looking at him as she unleashed a fearsome yawn.

Akabane smiled and came to sit beside her. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" She didn't answer, only continued to look into space while blinking away the drowsiness. "I made breakfast for us. In a little while, we'll go to the city, and hopefully locate your family. Won't that be nice?"

Mathilda didn't reply.

Akabane rose, unperturbed by her persistent silence, and held out his hand. "Shall we have something to eat now? You must be hungry."

The girl didn't answer – verbally, at any rate. Without looking at him, she hesitantly extended a hand dwarfed by the long pajama top sleeve. Akabane cupped her hand in his and helped her climb off the bed before leading her into the kitchen and dining area.

She ate steadily, neither poking at nor gobbling her food, and Akabane finished his meal at about the same time she did hers. He removed the napkin he'd tucked around her lap and used it to gently dab at some tiny specks on her cheek. "There's a good girl," he said warmly. "Shall we get you washed and dressed?"

In those activities, as in eating, she proved to be just as cooperative, allowing without so much as a whimper or fuss for Akabane to clean her face and teeth and dress her in the now-dried garments from last night. As he combed out the glossy pageboy style her hair was cut in, he was again struck by how sweetly innocent she was. He'd been right; neatly arranged, she was an adorable child, quite like a life-sized doll. The only difference was her perfectly blank expression.

"Do you know, Mathilda-chan? If you smiled, you would be an even prettier little girl." Akabane finished combing her hair and turned her around to face his own smile. "You must be anxious to get back home, hmm? I'm sure your family has missed you."

He laid the comb on the nightstand and helped her put on her shoes, black leather patents. "There we go. Now, I need to check on something for a few minutes, so why don't you have a seat in the living room while I do that." Akabane rose and patted her cheek. "It won't take me very long."

In his own bedroom Akabane sat down at his desk and booted up his laptop. There were a few cursory emails from clients and associates; he bypassed these to open the one that had piqued his attention last night. As usual, Juno was brief and to the point, having enclosed the police report fresh from the lines when it had come in.

Akabane scanned it, pursing his lips thoughtfully. The Middleman had left victim number six in a prominent location as per his standard procedure. The police were trying to keep things quiet due to the fact that yakuza were involved, but it might as well have been for naught. The underworld policed itself to a certain extent, and Akabane was certain that some high-profile hit men were even now delighting in the opportunity to exercise their considerable skills.

They would fail, of course. Word was, by Juno's reckoning, the last assassin who had tried such had wound up entertaining the dwellers at the bottom of Tokyo Bay. The Middleman wasn't prey to be taken lightly – one reason why Akabane was keen on meeting him. He wanted to know what it was about the killer that made him up to now a seemingly undefeatable opponent that not even yakuza could battle.

He composed a brief reply to his informant, expressing his thanks for having received the information and including a request for further details at her convenience. Task accomplished, he closed the laptop to go finish dressing, putting on his socks and boots and tucking his crisply-knotted tie into his vest. Once fully attired, he went into the adjoining bathroom to finish drying and combing out his own unruly mane.

Fortunately, despite the mass, that chore didn't take long. Akabane wore it this way because he liked the length, and because it was simply the easiest style for him to take care of. He'd tried having it cut short once, and had hated it – cowlicks stuck up everywhere for months and he'd had several lovers make unflattering comparisons to banal celebrities. Akabane didn't consider himself vain, but he knew his likes and dislikes and had developed his own set of habits that he almost never deviated from. It rather amused him to present himself in a certain fashion, contrary to what many of his associates were prone to, and it also ensured that Doctor Jackal would be as memorable for his genteel conduct as he was for his lethal deliveries. If one must turn to a life of criminal activity, one ought to at least have the good graces to perform it in dashing style, he felt. Crime was so rarely glamorous these days.

At last conceding defeat – one of the rare opponents permitted such luxury – to the natural fall of his hair, Akabane replaced the styling implements in their holders and went back to see to Mathilda, pausing to unlock the front door on his way. He found her as directed, sitting quietly on the couch, hands folded in her lap and head bowed.

"We still have a little time before our transport arrives. Would you like to see the garden before we leave?"

She made no answer, and he took that to mean that she would have no objections. It had occurred to him that perhaps she had some type of mental affliction that prohibited her from interacting with the world at large as a normal five-year-old would, but somehow he didn't think that this was the case. She struck him as being well aware of her surroundings – that she'd been able to feed herself, and obey his directions, was proof enough.

Still, Akabane wasn't one to question other people's preferences, even if he didn't agree with them. If Mathilda wished to remain silent, he had no personal quarrel with it, and the lack of chatter actually came as a relief to him. Akabane was, admittedly, picky about his choice of conversation and indulging idle words wasn't high on his list of favorite things to do.

He led Mathilda to the back of the house where he kept his sunroom. In actuality, he had two gardens, one outside and one indoors, but during seasonal transitions he referred to the one he spent more time working with as 'the garden' for general purposes. From the outside, it might have appeared as just another room in the house, but for the walls being made entirely from glass panels.

Akabane adjusted a few of the shades to allow for appropriate sunlight, and guided the little girl around the room as he explained the different kinds of plants and flowers he kept. "Do you like plants, Mathilda-chan? They can be quite a relaxing hobby if one has the time to devote to them." He took down a small potted orchid from one of the shelves and held it out for Mathilda to examine. "Unfortunately, my other interests prevent me from practicing horticulture full-time, but it amuses me to try anyway. And I don't think that I've done too badly," he added with a measure of self-satisfaction, surveying his collection. The plants were overall in good shape; a few were wilting from lack of water, and a couple of others had taken a hit with frost several nights ago due to his forgetting to bring them inside, but generally the lot of them were in fair health.

Mathilda showed no interest in the orchid. She merely stared ahead, blinking every now and then. Akabane replaced the plant in its space and moved on.

"Did you know, Mathilda-chan, that if you cut off certain portions of some plants, those sections won't die if you place them in water or soil to grow?" He demonstrated this by unhooking a rather large spider plant from its ceiling beam anchor and showing her the little growths cascading on long stems. Out of habit he almost let the scalpel slide into his hand, but thought better of it and used his fingers instead to snap off one of the new spiderlings. "These are roots, here. I'll put this in a cup of water and in time, once it's been repotted, it will grow into a new plant."

Akabane got a cup from the sink nearby and filled it with water for the spiderling. "Other plants die off over the winter only to come back year after year. Those are called perennials." He put the cup with its host on one of the sunnier ledges. "Then there are ones called annuals. They die and must be replaced every year with new plants."

Mathilda took all of this in quietly, letting him lead her around as they looked at all the pots of various shapes and sizes. One of the smaller ones seemed to draw her attention, and she wandered over to the stool where it sat, dwarfed by a fern next to it.

The purple rose wasn't anything spectacular, but it was in good health, and promised to grow into a heartier plant if properly tended to. Akabane was no stranger to rose-keeping; he possessed a rather extensive collection of the bushes surrounding his property. He'd acquired this particular one as part of a past transport assignment – the client, appreciative of the work he'd done, and knowing of his idiosyncrasies, had offered it to him as a gift. It had been with him a little over a year but until now hadn't done much besides occasionally bud and flower. The current blooms were tiny but robust, and their rich, deep coloring was accentuated by the dark green of its leaves.

Akabane watched while Mathilda reached up and tentatively traced some of the rose's petals. Her face held a rapt expression, as though she were somehow communing with the plant. Amused by her sudden interest, he approached and took down the pot to give to her.

"Hold it with both hands. Yes, like that, one hand under the bottom." He watched her for signs that the pot was too heavy for her to carry, but she seemed to be handling it without much difficulty. She clutched the pot close to her chest and pressed her nose into one of the blossoms.

"I'm afraid roses don't have much scent," Akabane told her. "But they're very lovely to look at, aren't they?"

Mathilda evidently agreed with him. A ghost of something like pleasure flickered across her gaze for the briefest of seconds. Still hugging the pot, she raised one hand to caress one of the blooms.

"Careful. Mind the thorns on the stems." He knelt and took hold of her wrist, gently guiding her fingers over the silk-soft petals and the smooth leaves. "Roses are beautiful, but they can also be dangerous when you least expect it, Mathilda-chan. Enjoy them, but take care not to be cut by their hidden surprises."

"Sounds like somebody I know."

Akabane looked up. Gouzou Maguruma was outfitted in full chauffeur regalia – his normal job, when he wasn't trucking, was taxi work. The transporting paid for his family's educations. He regarded his fellow agent with a mixture of curiosity and wry tolerance. "I hadn't heard you come in."

"Front door was unlocked, so I figured you were in a welcoming mood."

Akabane smiled. "Prompt _and_ stealthy. Are you always this accommodating to your clients?" he teased, getting to his feet.

"Only to my regulars. Who don't deserve it, seeing as how they tend to cost me for truck repairs because of their unscheduled stops," Maguruma added pointedly.

Akabane chuckled. "Why, Gouzou, you make it seem as though I have a personal vendetta against your vehicles. How was I to know that Ginji-kun's counterattack would fry all the electrical circuits? It's what he _does._"

"And the six inches of metal from my bumper we left behind on that guardrail, coming down from Hokkaido?" Maguruma raised a brow. "Yeah. Remember that? My wallet sure does."

Akabane sighed. "Midou-kun isn't interested in causing damage to your truck. He only cares about doing his job as a retrieval agent. He's a professional too, just like we are." He favored his comrade with a playful smile. "I can't help it if my friends are the rowdy types who enjoy a bit of roughhousing."

Maguruma snorted. "You encourage it." Ignoring Akabane's velvety laughter, he stepped into the room. "I thought I heard you talking to someone." He stooped and smiled at Mathilda. "Hello there, sweetheart. What's your name?"

Mathilda surprised the both of them by taking up a stance directly in front of Akabane, her arms wrapped tightly around the rose pot. She was clearly apprehensive – her eyes had gone wide at the first sight of Maguruma and her little body had gone taut, but she wasn't ready to recoil in complete fear – yet. She stuck her chin out and stared almost fiercely at the other transporter as if daring him to come any closer.

"She doesn't talk," Akabane explained on seeing the puzzled look Maguruma gave him. "I don't know why. Perhaps she's incapable of speech, although I see no specific health reason preventing it."

He smiled down at Mathilda. "Mathilda-chan, this is Maguruma-san. He's a friend of mine that's going to drive us to the city today."

The apprehension had left the child, but she continued to regard Maguruma with a wary stare, not entirely trusting of him. Given the other man's imposing size, it was probably natural that she would be leery of him, despite the fact that Gouzou was a pussycat where children were involved. She hung onto the rose pot with one arm and latched onto Akabane's gloved hand with her free limb as the three of them walked back towards the kitchen.

"Would you like a pot of tea before we go?" Akabane asked Maguruma. "I have some wonderful British blend I found at the market the other day. It's no trouble."

"Thanks, but I've got my cooler in the cab. I'm good for the day." He waited until Akabane had sent the little girl to the living room to sit, and then asked quietly, "What's her story?"

Akabane went to the bedroom to fetch his hat and coat, and Mathilda's blanket. "I don't know. She appeared at my door late last night, so I had little choice but to keep her here. That's why I asked for you to take us to Shinjuku today." He finished buttoning up his coat. "I'm certain there must be someone out there anxious to see her back. She looks well-kept and she isn't starving. Surely she has a home somewhere."

Maguruma frowned. "Poor kid. She really showed up out of nowhere?" Akabane nodded. "You could have called police, had them take custody."

"You know I detest city interference. I value my privacy," Akabane sniffed. "And at that hour of night, I wasn't looking forward to having to fill out endless paperwork all for something that I can just as easily resolve myself." He set his hat on his head, arranging it so that the slit in the brim fell above his left eye. "Is it terribly cold out this morning?"

"Chilly, but a jacket will do you. I heard the real freeze isn't supposed to hit us until later in the week."

"Good." Akabane went to his closet and withdrew a light sweater, draping it over his arm before he left the bedroom for the guest bathroom to get Mathilda's blanket.

She was as they had left her, cradling the purple rose in her lap and looking for all the world as though she had endless reserves of patience in her wait. After rolling the long sleeves up so she wouldn't trip on them, Akabane leaned down and knotted the sweater about her shoulders to form a partial cloak.

"Do you like that rose, Mathilda-chan?" He marveled at his impulsive generosity; such displays of affection weren't typical for him. "You may take it home with you, if you like. Consider it a token of my appreciation for the pleasure of your company." He held out his hand, and, predictably, when she paid it little heed in favor of focusing on her interior world, lightly clasped her small fingers in his larger ones.

Akabane favored his companions with a smile. "Shall we?"

--

TBC


	3. Downtown

Haven't forgotten about this one. :)

Title: The Keeper's Watch (ch. 3)

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

- According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

- Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

The ride to Shinjuku was smooth, and the trip passed in ease. Maguruma and Akabane chatted from time to time, filling each other in on any news concerning their mutual interests. Mathilda sat, silent as always, watching the world outside pass by while fixated on the one within her inscrutable mind.

Eventually the topic of discussion turned to transporting. "You hear about Dragon Saito?" Maguruma asked.

Akabane hummed softly. "He was the latest one."

"So you know already." Maguruma didn't sound surprised. "Yeah. Poor bastard."

"How did it happen?"

"Word is Saito got a call from the yakuza uptown. They want him to haul some cargo to Osaka. He shows up, makes the pickup – "

"But the delivery never arrived," Akabane guessed.

Maguruma shook his head. "Mob boss's wife found the body hanging in her husband's garage when she came home from shopping. He'd been filleted like a fish." Remembering then that there was an extra pair of ears in the cab, Maguruma flushed. "Sorry," he said, glancing in the rearview mirror at the little girl next to Akabane. "Anyway, the yakuza are putting their people into it now, so the Middleman's days could be numbered."

"I take it the cargo was something rather important to them," Akabane said.

"Maybe, maybe not. You know how those guys are. Sneeze in the wrong direction around any of 'em and they act like you've run over their favorite grandmother."

"True," Akabane agreed. He studied his associate's face in the mirror. "I don't think the Middleman will be deterred though. It will only turn bloodier."

"What makes you say that?"

Akabane smiled, but refrained from mentioning his own interest. He said, "The yakuza won't rest until they've caught the person responsible. The Middleman's been working his way up the courier ladder, haven't you noticed? It will be a challenge for him, to see how much he can get away with. Between the two parties, there ought to be enough feuding to paint the entire city red."

Maguruma frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. You want to give Himiko a call, or should I?"

"As a professional, I'm sure she's already aware of the risk," Akabane replied. "As am I. There's no point in worrying over what may never occur, is there?"

"I suppose not," Maguruma said. "But still, I'll feel a lot better knowing that the quota of transport agents isn't dropping any further."

"Keep being unstoppable behind the wheel and you won't have to worry," Akabane assured him.

"Easy for you to say," Maguruma snorted. "You're enjoying this."

Akabane's answering smile was positively feline.

Maguruma shook his head. "I'll never understand what goes on in that head of yours." He switched the subject. "So, where in the lovely city am I taking you?"

"You had suggested the police department, so we may as well begin our search there," Akabane replied. "I have other errands to run, but they could take the better part of the day, so I'll call you when I'm ready to leave."

"If I'm free," Maguruma said. "I go down by four, just so you know."

"I'll keep that in mind. I appreciate your accommodation."

Maguruma chuckled. "I'll remember that the next time we work a job together and you get itchy scalpel fingers."

He took Akabane and Mathilda to the nearest police station, dropping them off right by the front door – "How's that for transport service?" – and wished Akabane and Mathilda luck in finding her family before departing on another dispatch.

Akabane wrapped his hand securely around Mathilda's lest she suddenly have an impulse to dart into traffic or unsuspecting passers-by, and led her inside the station. She carried her rose – carefully tucked inside the shroud of her blanket, to protect it from the cold – and settled into a chair at her guardian's request.

Akabane went to the front desk, where he was greeted by a middle-aged woman who looked as though she could take on men of Maguruma's size and come out the winner. Despite her formidable presence, she had a pleasant expression, and was likewise as friendly when he made his inquiries.

"Pardon me. Is a Detective Fujita working today?"

She looked up and smiled. "He may be in conference with someone right now, but it shouldn't take long. If you'd like to wait I could buzz you in when he's ready."

"That would be fine," Akabane agreed, returning her smile with one of his own.

The policewoman reached for a notepad and pen. "May I get your name, please?"

"Dr. Akabane." He reserved the use of his official title for situations like these; past experience had taught him that one often got faster results by playing the respectability card when it was warranted. Besides, the person he was interested in would know right away who had come calling, and doubtless agree to an audience.

"And may I say what this is regarding?"

"I have information on a package he was expecting."

The policewoman wrote this down and nodded to him. "If you'll please have a seat then, I'll let the detective know you're here." She rose, taking the notepad with her, and departed through the door behind her.

Akabane rejoined Mathilda at the waiting area. She was shivering a little, and he adjusted the sweater around her to provide more warmth. She stared at her rose, embracing it as snugly as a kitten clutches its prey. Akabane leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap while he waited.

Before long the policewoman reappeared, notepad in hand but minus the information she'd taken down. "Akabane-sensei? Detective Fujita will see you now."

Akabane stood and indicated to Mathilda to follow him. The policewoman led them down a hallway and through a metal detector gate; a part of Akabane mused that it was fortunate he was carrying ceramic scalpels today instead of metal ones. They passed through the detector with nary a sound, and their guide escorted them down another hallway, straight to the detective's office door.

She rapped deferentially on the pane of glass which bore his name in bold white lettering, and opened the door for them. A man of average height and crowned with salt-and-pepper hair was sitting at the desk, and he rose when Akabane and Mathilda entered the room. "Welcome, Akabane-sensei." He smiled at them and gestured to the seats in front of his desk. "Can I get either of you anything to drink?"

"Water would be fine, thank you."

The policewoman closed the door and retreated. Fujita nodded and went to the cooler, pouring three cups. He handed the first two to Akabane and Mathilda, and took his own back behind his desk. In private, he regarded his visitors with a somewhat wary gaze. "I understand you have information on a delivery for me?"

"Possibly." Akabane adjusted his hat, studying the detective with an impassive look. Early on in his career, he'd made it his business to know which officials in the police department were cooperative with underworld figures, particularly transport agents. The connections proved invaluable on the occasion he had need of their services. This one owed him a favor. "Have I come at an inconvenient time?"

Fujita shook his head, though his cautious demeanor remained. Akabane supposed he couldn't blame the man. After all, it wasn't every day that an agent of Jackal's notoriety appeared in one's office. "No, no. I have a few minutes before my next case review. I trust your confidentiality." This was his way of letting Akabane know that it was safe to discuss personal business, for the moment. Under pressure from the public, the local politicians had vowed to clean up hints of corrupt law enforcement, hence the need for discretion.

Akabane smiled and explained how Mathilda had come to be with him, omitting only the fact that she'd spent the night at his house, which he edited to this morning, and the location, changing that to an apartment he occasionally made use of when taking extended trips to the city. Maguruma, he knew, would vouch for him if necessary, should the police require an eyewitness. "I'm certain she must have family in these parts," he finished, putting a hand on Mathilda's shoulder. "She's obviously in good health and shows no sign of distress, in spite of her reticence."

Fujita nodded and sipped at his water cup. "Let me look through the files here. Often what happens is that a child gets lost during a family outing, and the family may not realize the extent of the separation right away before informing authorities."

He entered the database on his computer and typed in the required information for a search. The computer pulled up the most recently filed reports, none of which fit Mathilda's description. Fujita closed those files and went into the primary database next.

This search turned up several case files. Fujita asked Akabane to look at the pictures. None of them came close to resembling Mathilda's features.

"She has no other ID on her?"

"None, I'm afraid."

"Hmm." Fujita steepled his fingers together and studied the little girl. "This is certainly an unusual case. As pretty a child as that, one would think that her family would be desperate to locate her." He looked to Akabane. "Have you tried at foster services, juvenile homes?"

"No."

Fujita called up the database again and dug through the contents. "I can't confirm it without speaking firsthand to them, but judging by the current information here, it doesn't look like anyone's reported a missing child of her description in the last several years." He glanced up from the computer screen. "You say she just appeared out of nowhere, right by your front door?"

"That's correct."

Fujita stroked his bottom lip. "I'd suggest a runaway, but children that young don't usually decide on their own to leave home. A more likely possibility is abandonment. Some folks just don't want to be tied down with kids."

Akabane frowned. "Do you think that's the case?"

"You never know. Parents find the responsibility of raising a child gets to be too much for them, so they drop Junior at the nearest relative's or friend's and take off on a permanent vacation. Or else they go shopping and conveniently forget one of their 'packages' behind." His eyes narrowed in cynical thought. "I've seen worse."

Akabane glanced at Mathilda, feeling an unexpected pang of pity for the little girl. To be unwanted was a sorrowful thing, truly. He looked to Fujita once more. "If there are no notices posted for her immediate return, what do we do next?"

Fujita shrugged. "Best I can do is take her into custody and keep trying with the juvenile services. If she isn't already listed with any of them, she will be shortly."

"I see."

Fujita reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder of papers, which he flipped through to obtain several forms. "That is what you wish to do, am I right? I assume you're a busy man…"

Akabane looked to Mathilda again. She sat, quiet, still, seemingly oblivious to everything and everyone around her but the purple rose cradled in her arms. Her head was bowed, as if in acceptance of whatever the winds of fate chose to toss at her, unbroken in her silent yet steadfast vigil to the ghosts of her inner world. Hers was the weakness and fragility of youth – and yet, he perceived within her an uncommon strength.

No one apparently wanted her – a mystery, when she was in all other ways the model of a perfect child. Had she been abandoned by her original caretakers somewhere near his home? He hadn't sensed anything out of the ordinary when he'd answered the door last night…

"Akabane-sensei," Fujita repeated, clearing his throat slightly. "Do you want me to take the girl into police custody?"

Almost as if watching himself in a dream Akabane heard his voice speaking then, quiet and decisive. "No. I will act as her guardian until such time as a proper home can be found."

Fujita blinked, not expecting this response. "Are you certain? I mean, I had been made to understand that your business was of great concern to a man of your reputation…"

Akabane tilted his hat, looking at the detective. "I will take her." The words sounded and felt foreign on his tongue, and he couldn't explain where the urge to follow where they led had come from, let alone his compulsion to make good on the commitment they implied. His common sense argued that this wasn't a good idea, for reasons not the least of which was the inconvenience placed on his time.

Yet something inside him was prompting him not to leave Mathilda behind. Oddly enough, she trusted him where most others would not have. It was, he mused, an interesting…feeling, to have a stranger put such utter faith in him.

Akabane held back a sigh. What was done was done – he'd already uttered the declaration, so there was nothing left to do but deal with the situation.

Fujita didn't look entirely convinced of his sincerity, however. As Akabane rose and took Mathilda's hand in his, the detective also stood up. "Sensei. Far be it from me to interfere, but I admit I'm rather concerned for the child's welfare, given your particular industry…" He trailed off when he locked eyes with Akabane's flat steel gaze.

"Fujita-san. I appreciate your concern, and I can assure you that your judgment is unwarranted. I draw the line at working with beasts, as opposed to sharing their pleasures." Akabane reached into the breast pocket of his coat, suppressing the urge to smirk at the man's flinch when he withdrew his fingers, which bore a single, slender white card. He handed this to Fujita. "Please, do keep in touch if you hear anything," he murmured coolly.

"O-Of course," Fujita said, uneasy by the suggestion he'd caused offense to his dangerous guest. "If there's anything else I can do for you, Akabane-sensei, by all means, let me know – "

"I only ask one thing, for now," Akabane replied smoothly, his tone the same chill as he led Mathilda out of the office. He paused in the doorway and regarded the detective with a meaningful, unsmiling stare. "And that is that you do not interfere." He did smile then, a customary gesture. "Thank you for your time, Fujita-san. Good day."

Mathilda and rose in tow, Akabane departed in a wreath of shadows.

--

The sun was ebbing behind a curtain of light gray. This being the winter season, the threat of snow was a constant. Akabane and Mathilda walked along the sidewalks of Shinjuku, while Akabane considered his next action.

"It seems as though you're going to be staying with me a little longer than either of us expected, Mathilda-chan," he told the little girl. "We may as well make some preparations while we wait to find your home, hmm?"

Mathilda said nothing, clutching her rose pot and hanging on to his gloved hand. He had adjusted his pace accordingly so that she had little trouble in keeping up with him.

Akabane ignored the occasional glances her presence brought him. He was used to being stared at, mostly out of fear, but quite a bit of fascination as well. He supposed they did make an odd pair, although he would have bet good money that there were stranger couplings out on the streets.

He spotted a cluster of stores ahead and led the child toward them. In his mind he was making up a list of all the things she would need: change of clothing, toothbrush, soap and shampoo, perhaps some vitamins as well…

Not that he expected her to remain with him for an extended duration. Fujita had been correct: he valued his time and if a particularly promising job arose he would have to give it precedence over entertaining his temporary guest. However, there was no reason why he couldn't at least make Mathilda's stay with him a pleasant one, and so Akabane didn't think twice about acquiring a somewhat sizable load of packages.

Having determined that the mall complex would contain everything the little girl needed, they stopped first at a clothing store. Akabane had Mathilda try on different outfits, approving or vetoing the choices based on his own judgment and the cooing saleswomen's delighted recommendations. They automatically assumed that Mathilda was his daughter; he saw no reason to disabuse them of this notion if only because it ensured their timely cooperation.

Mathilda herself expressed no interest in any of the new clothes, but from time to time her face would flicker over into a minute frown as she cast looks at her rose. The pot sat peacefully on the bench next to their growing pile of purchases, under Akabane's watchful guard. Apparently deciding that her beloved plant was in good hands, Mathilda's frown smoothed itself into mellow blankness again.

On one of these occasions he got the sense that it wasn't so much the rose she was concerned about as it was his presence. Mathilda, surrounded by personnel adjusting the next outfit she was placed into, seemed to be checking that Akabane was still there, right where she'd left him waiting. It reminded him of Fujita's guess that she'd been abandoned, and Akabane had to admit he felt a small twinge of…sorrow? If she truly had been dumped by the very people who were supposed to care for her, she must be worried that her impromptu guardian might suddenly choose to do the same.

They settled on a couple of final outfits, selected with her comfort, style and the weather conditions in mind, and Akabane paid the bill before they moved on to another store. On their way out he politely declined several offers of telephone numbers, managing without much detail to convey the impression that he was recently widowed and had no current desire for a new romance.

At another store they picked up some toiletries for Mathilda, and further down the way a new pair of boots. The patents she was wearing were perfectly serviceable, but Akabane wanted something in case it should snow heavily – current forecasts were threatening storms on a daily basis and though it had been hit-or-miss, he didn't want to be caught unprepared for inclement weather.

As it was now well into the afternoon hours, Akabane decreed that they ought to find something to eat, and took Mathilda to a café. It didn't have the ambiance or the quirky charm that the Honky Tonk possessed (which, he had to admit, had grown on him since he'd begun patronizing the place), but it was charming enough in its simplicity and the food was delicious.

"Are you having a nice time, Mathilda-chan?" Akabane felt the edges of an impulsive smile creep along his lips as he watched her. At one of the stores they'd stopped in, the girl's attention had been drawn by a floppy black hat with a series of small flowers embroidered on the folded brim, and somewhere between clothes and shoes she had suddenly appeared at Akabane's side wearing it. He'd decided the hat suited her, and so had included it in the rest of the purchases. It was a little large for her, as the wide brim kept slipping over her loose hair, but otherwise looked very stylish on her.

Akabane leaned across the table and gently nudged the hat back from her face so she could see what she was doing. They'd ordered soup, and Mathilda was nearly done with hers. Without so much as a blink of acknowledgement of his aid, she continued to spoon measured bites into her mouth.

"It may take a while to locate your family, Mathilda-chan, but don't worry. I promise I'll take very good care of you while you're with me – " Akabane frowned as he felt the sudden squirming of his phone in his coat pocket, signaling an incoming call. "Please excuse me for a moment. I'll be right back."

He got up and walked over to the garden display in the main mall corridor, from where he had a clear view of Mathilda. He slid his hand into the pocket and withdrew the bothersome device, flicking it open to his ear. "Hello?"

"The postman always rings twice."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is this the post office?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

The gruff-voiced caller persisted. "I need an important package delivered."

So began the familiar song and dance. Akabane smiled to himself. He'd be the judge of that. "I see. You're looking for a courier service."

"You know one?"

"Perhaps. Did you have any particular type in mind?"

"I prefer medical."

"They're quite expensive, and I must warn you that they've extremely discriminating tastes in clientele. However, if this is the route you choose I can assure you that their services are prompt and professional."

"That's the kind I want." A pause, and then, "There're specimen samples involved."

Meaning, there was a good chance of a fight breaking out. Akabane glanced at Mathilda, then lowered his gaze to the floor. "I see." He licked his lips. "These are the terms. Have your goods ready to depart as soon as pickup can be made. Payment shall be arranged per your discretion, via hard currency or electronic transfer, in full, to be completed immediately upon successful delivery. Failure to comply with any of these requirements will render the contract permanently voided." Akabane paused to let that sink in. "Are these terms satisfactory to you?"

"Yeah."

"Very good. I'm going to hang up now. I suggest that in five minutes you call the office with the necessary delivery information, and the agent will arrive accordingly."

"All right."

"One more thing."

"What?"

"This courier service adheres to the highest level of standards. Naturally, they expect their clients to operate in the same manner. I trust you understand the value of confidentiality when it comes to such sensitive deliveries, correct?"

The man sounded a bit shaky in his reply, though he covered it well. "Absolutely."

"If you don't, the agency may offer additional _educational_ services free of charge." His tone stayed mild but the frost underlying was unmistakable. "Is this clear?" The Jagan user, Ban Midou, would have stated things in cruder phrasing, but Akabane felt certain that the message had been received: _don't fuck with me._

The would-be client seemed intelligent enough to pick up that implication. "Yeah. Yeah," he rattled. "That's why I want the medical branch. They're supposed to be the best."

"Very good. A pleasant afternoon to you, then." Akabane flicked the phone shut, terminating the call. He wasn't really expecting to be double-crossed, wouldn't even have half-minded if the assignment _did _turn out to be a ploy to trap him in some law enforcement's or underworld's nets, but he intensely disliked falsehoods spun on the part of the client. The government officials who had hired him for that asinine IL debacle had learned the hard way that Doctor Jackal didn't appreciate such rudeness.

It occurred to him then that he had another dilemma on his hands: Mathilda. Akabane looked up and studied the child at the table they'd shared, thinking. Business was business…yet he couldn't very well leave her to fend for herself. As he considered his options, his phone trembled again.

"Hello?"

It was the client. He gave Akabane the information specified earlier, and hung up once the scheduling had been finalized. Akabane tucked the phone back into his pocket and returned to Mathilda.

"I'm sorry about that, Mathilda-chan. I'm afraid I had something important to attend to." He noticed that she'd finished her lunch, and had been waiting patiently for only a short while. "Well, then. Shall we give Maguruma a call and ask him to take us home?" he said, as he cleared away their refuse and emptied it into a nearby bin. "I've some matters I must take care of, and we'll get you squared away with all your new things."

He'd removed the sweater she'd been using earlier and slipped that into one of the bags. Now he withdrew the winter coat, minus its sales tags, which he'd asked the clerks to trim off when he'd purchased it. After helping her put it on, he offered her the flower pot and waited for her to get adjusted before taking her hand in his. As he led her through the complex Akabane pulled out his phone once more and placed a call to Maguruma.

"I had a feeling you'd be ringing me up soon."

"Oh?"

"If you got the same request I did, it looks like it'll be a nice night for a drive," Maguruma said.

Akabane pursed his lips. "I see. Then, shall we simply have dinner at my house and leave from there?"

"I have two more relays to make before the end of my shift, but yeah, that sounds fine. How'd it go with the kid?"

Akabane sighed. "Not well. They can't seem to find any record of a missing child fitting her description."

"You're kidding. This close to the holidays? Somebody's got to be worried sick over her."

"You would think. I may have to investigate further channels. It doesn't appear that the police will be of much use." Akabane cast a glance down at the expressionless Mathilda, who kept pace with him while clutching her rose pot. He smiled. "At least she's pleasant company. Very well-behaved, no trouble at all."

Maguruma was surprised. "She's still with you?"

"Yes." Akabane hesitated. "Have you heard from Himiko-san at all?"

"No."

"All right. I'll try that number and see if I can't arrange something for tonight. Obviously the girl can't accompany us on the job, and I don't dare leave her on her own. She's too young."

"I'd have thought that child services would've stepped in, if the cops weren't able to help."

"Their hands are tied by all the bureaucratic nonsense their paperwork demands they wade through. I spoke with Fujita. He told me that short of foisting her off on them, there's nothing that can be done unless the police manage to locate her kin."

"So why didn't you?"

Akabane was silent. Why hadn't he? He thought of attempting to explain his instincts to Maguruma, but quickly dismissed the idea. "What time do you think you'll be able to leave?"

"Should be clocking out of there by fifteen after, once I prep the cab and collect the truck. Where are you now?"

"Satomi Center. I needed to pick up some things."

"Anticipating an extended visit, eh?"

"I like to be prepared," Akabane answered. "There's no telling how long it may take to resolve this situation."

"You could have resolved it easily enough this morning."

"I wasn't complaining. We'll meet you by the main entrance." Akabane ended the call and suppressed a sigh. Maguruma was perhaps the only one he would tolerate such nosiness from, if only because they went back a ways.

He dialed Himiko Kudou's number next, and was relieved to discover that she was at home. But if he thought that she would prove an easy solution to his dilemma, he was to be mistaken. Lady Poison, as it turned out, had been hired for a job too on this night – but not the same one as himself and Mr. No-Brakes.

"Oh dear," Akabane sighed his disappointment.

"What?" Himiko asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," Akabane reassured her. "Merely a business proposition, that's all. It's no cause for concern."

"What kind of business?" Himiko's tone was tart; in her own way she could be as direct as Maguruma and twice as stubborn. They both knew he wasn't one to call up his associates for favors – if he could help it.

Akabane ignored the question. "By any chance, would you happen to know what Midou-kun and Ginji-kun are doing this evening?"

"They're working a job uptown. I'm supposed to meet them for drinks in two hours." Her voice was suspicious. "What do you need them for?"

Akabane was silent as he considered his few remaining choices. Maguruma's wife was working tonight, and he knew of no one else who could agree to impromptu babysitting duty. And he wasn't familiar enough with the rest of the Honky Tonk denizens to consider requesting their services – not that any of them probably would have given him the time of day. Besides, letting them in on his 'secret' would bring more trouble than it was worth, even if he managed to get a good battle out of the deal.

Doctor Jackal and children simply didn't go together in the same sentence.

His own fault. He'd upset the balance of his own equation, and now he had to stabilize it somehow. But he was nothing if not a man of his word, and he was determined to see this peculiar mission through.

Himiko interrupted his thoughts. "Akabane?"

"It's nothing," he assured her once more. "I merely had a question about something for them, that's all. Thank you, Himiko-san. Good day." He hung up before she could get another word in, knowing that she'd hound him until he surrendered a satisfactory answer.

He looked to his pint-sized companion and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Come along, Mathilda-chan. I have one more call to make before we go home."

Janus would have to wait.

--

TBC


	4. Night life and the lack of it

Title: The Keeper's Watch (ch. 4)

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Yakuza in modern Japanese society are noted for their flashy wardrobe and greased hair, similar to 1950's American punks. One of their distinguishing marks is the lack of a complete pinky finger – when a lesser-ranked member displeases his boss in some way, the yakuza is given a knife and a piece of string (to stop the bleeding). The yakuza must then cut off the topmost joint of his pinky finger and present the stump to his boss as an apology for the offense; repeated offenses may result in the removal of whole fingers!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

Maguruma's truck was as solid and dependable as the man himself. The interior offered a surprisingly comfortable ride, even taking into account the rough routes that transport missions could sometimes bring. Of course, it helped that the truck's driver was among the best of the best. Gouzou Maguruma might be known as 'No-Brakes' but he hadn't gotten where he was by driving recklessly or making stupid mistakes. As late afternoon bled into early evening and civilization dissolved into wilderness, he and his passengers sped down the road towards Akabane's house, the adults having business foremost on their minds.

Mathilda – who had since grown accustomed to Maguruma, and now tolerated him with her usual indifference that she reserved for the world around her - had been safely buckled into the pull-down seat in the rear of the lorry, where Akabane usually rode when all of the Big Three – No-Brakes, Jackal, and Lady Poison – were contracted together. Her rose pot, comfortably surrounded by the various purchases Akabane had bought for her, was tucked into a corner where it would suffer no danger of tipping over. Mathilda herself sat as she always had since coming to stay with her self-proclaimed benefactor: silent, inscrutable, gaze fixed on the etherworld she kept communion with.

Akabane, who was sitting shotgun up front, would from time to time shift in his seat and flick a backwards gaze at her, checking to be sure that all was as it should be. He still wasn't certain what had motivated him to take in a stray; such generosity was alien to him. He preferred to keep himself to himself and allow others to take care of their own business. What they did was of no concern to him so long as it didn't interfere with his interests.

An old friend from past days would have said that he wasn't the only one who had been changed by their shared experience…

Akabane firmly brushed all reminders of Kanade Semimaru aside. No point in dwelling on things that couldn't be changed. He had been around too long now to have any room for guilt left. What he was doing for this girl was simple courtesy, nothing more. He was a practical, responsible adult, and even if he was a common murderer (although he would have argued that there was nothing common about his work) he was not inclined to attack someone who was incapable of fighting back.

Still, a nagging restlessness settled in his breast as he thought of the Wire Doll armies Makubex had once created to battle the IL team he'd been a part of. Himiko's reaction to his contributions during that fight continued to bother him, in ways he wasn't sure he wanted to dwell on. Akabane raised his head and caught Maguruma looking his way.

"It's probably just as well that Mathilda's staying with me. At least she'll receive proper attention. The police might mean well, but they're liable to forget to feed her or send her to sleep at a decent hour, given their caseload."

"Naturally, that makes you a sterling example of parental guidance," Maguruma said, not a trace of sarcasm or malice in his voice. He'd long ago accepted his sometime partner's eccentricities.

Nonetheless, Akabane frowned. "I'm not completely depraved," he said a shade sharper than he'd intended to. "I know what children require in order to thrive. That fool I spoke with acted as if I were about to literally throw the girl to wolves." He fell silent, gazing out the window as his own brooding expression shimmered in the glass with the truck's movement. "Do people really believe I'm monstrous enough to harm children?"

"Well, no one's ever seen Doctor Jackal around kids. You can't blame them for making the assumption."

"I suppose. I admit that particular pursuits of mine aren't popular with the mainstream." Akabane paused. "What do you think?"

Maguruma raised a brow. "You really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked you otherwise."

Maguruma's eyes flickered on the road for a few minutes. Then he looked back to Mathilda, turning partially around in his seat when they were stopped at a sign. He settled back into his original position and gave Akabane a neutral look as he shifted into gear again. "I think you'll do what you feel you have to do. No more, and no less."

Akabane's lips thinned. "That's a perfect sidestep of my question, Maguruma."

The big man shrugged. "I get paid to drive, not to philosophize."

"Coward," Akabane needled. "Do you think that if you say the wrong thing, I'll throw a tantrum and carve you up? I assure you, I have much thicker skin than that."

Maguruma calmly refused the bait. "We both know it doesn't matter what I say in the end. You'll do what you please. That's the way it's always been and that's the way it'll always be. No point in obsessing over that. One might as well wish for the power to control the weather."

"Comparing me to typhoons, now?"

"Well, you did name one of your combat moves 'Bloody Hurricane'…"

In spite of himself Akabane laughed at that, and Maguruma did too.

In the back, Mathilda expressed nothing, save for her silent blankness.

"You are correct," Akabane told his partner. "I will do what I want regardless of anyone's opinion, and what pleases me at present is to fulfill the obligation that I have accepted of my own accord. Neither you nor Mathilda need worry on that account."

"So long as you know what you're dealing with," Maguruma replied. "There are some things kids just don't understand."

"There are some things they shouldn't," Akabane answered softly, his mind taking him back to a place where the sky ran black with smoke, and the fields red with blood.

--

Dinner was an uncomplicated affair. Akabane was no four-star chef but he could cook enjoyable meals (partly thanks to Maguruma's wife, Suzume, who had taught him the secrets of spices), and the trio partook of stir-fried vegetables served over rice. Maguruma attempted to engage Mathilda in conversation, but she was content to ignore him, or so it seemed, as she ate her food steadily in unhurried bites. Undaunted, Maguruma kept talking at Akabane's encouragement, the latter having theorized that she was more observant than she appeared to be, and including her in their discussions was only the polite thing to do.

When dinner was done and the dishes cleared away and washed, Akabane took Mathilda into the spare bedroom to prepare her for an early bedtime, while Maguruma ran one last check over his truck to be sure that it was ready to go for the transport job. Akabane set Mathilda to washing her face, making use of the new toiletries he'd bought her, and went to fetch a small glass of milk.

He returned and found her standing quietly where he'd left her, skin scrubbed clean with the washcloth. "All done?" he asked, smiling, and knelt to give her the glass. "Drink this for me, please."

She slowly took the glass from him in both hands and obediently lifted it to her lips, sipping the contents until they were gone. She was left with a little 'mustache' on her upper lip, and Akabane gently cleaned this away with the damp cloth. He took the glass and set it on the sink counter. "Good girl. Do you need to use the lavatory at all?"

Mathilda didn't respond at first; then, a slight shake of her head: _no._

"All right." Akabane paused, noting the tiny frown that had come over her cherubic face. He had the distinct impression that she was not pleased to realize that he would be going out. A part of him chastised himself for thinking such sentimental things; surely the child was not growing attached to him…

He remembered the way she'd stared after him in the department stores, checking to see whether he was still around. It was, he mused, not entirely impossible to imagine such, and as Maguruma had pointed out, in the absence of any real guardians, he _was_ the next best thing…even if his credentials weren't exactly paternal material.

Akabane sighed. He knelt to be at eye level with her and took her little shoulders in his hands. "Mathilda-chan…I have to go to work now. But don't worry. I'll be back before you know it," he added reassuringly as he saw her eyes focus briefly, deliberately, on him, and again he had the curious notion that she was _seeing_ him and not just shadows.

Impulsively, he reached up and stroked her cheek, smoothing the bangs away from her forehead. "I'm going to tuck you into bed, and I want you to be a good girl for me and go to sleep. When you wake up I promise I'll be back. All right?"

Mathilda's frown deepened for a second, and then eased into placid nothingness. Akabane took this to mean that she would comply, however disappointing she apparently found his leave-taking. Giving her another smile, he rose and escorted her to the spare bedroom, now her temporary lodging.

She crawled under the covers with his help, and he drew them around her for comfort. Seshat, who had followed Akabane into the room, surprised them both by jumping onto the bed by Mathilda's feet and assuming a sentry pose.

Akabane nodded his approval. "Watch over her," he told the feline, and as if to indicate agreement with this assignment Seshat blinked once, her tail curling around her paws as she settled herself.

"Do you like cats, Mathilda-chan? Very pleasant companions to have around, I must say. Seshat is friendly, once you get to know each other." Akabane took Mathilda's hand and, after offering it to the cat for a cursory sniff, lightly smoothed her palm over Seshat's side, letting the girl feel the soft fur. Seshat responded by rubbing her head against Mathilda's hand, uttering a muted purr to convey her pleasure with the attention.

Mathilda seemed to like that. She stretched her little fingers out towards the cat again, and was rewarded with an inquisitive tickle of whiskers. She began to pet Seshat, gently touching her the way that Akabane had shown how.

Akabane looked on with amusement at their interaction. If anyone could get the child to emerge from her cocoon, it would be Seshat. Animals were, perhaps, natural healers, renowned for their therapeutic talents.

Mathilda yawned then, and at his coaxing burrowed into the pillow. He noted the way that her eyelids drooped and figured the medicine must be starting to take effect. "Close your eyes, and dream pleasant dreams, and when you wake up I'll be home again," he told her kindly as he turned out the light. "Good night, Mathilda-chan."

He met Maguruma midway in the front hall as he was donning his trademark long black coat and hat.

"She's ready to go whenever you are."

"Good. All I need to do is lock up and we can leave."

"What about the girl?" Maguruma asked.

Akabane adjusted his hat. "Taken care of. She'll sleep through the night until I return."

Maguruma frowned slightly. "Is that safe?"

"As long as I don't miscalculate the dosage," Akabane replied evenly, an arching eyebrow daring him to comment further.

Maguruma didn't. He knew better than to press his comrade on testy subjects.

Knowing of the other's fondness for children, Akabane decided to take pity on him as they left the house. Pocketing his keys, he said, "Believe me, it was a last resort. I tried to find an appropriate sitter while we were out, but everyone I know has other commitments. We can't take her with and we can't let her have the run of my house unsupervised, so this was the best I could do. In any case, she's safer here than she would be if we were staying at my apartment in the city."

"That's true," Maguruma agreed as they climbed inside and settled themselves. He started the truck – the trailer part of it was not necessary on this trip, so he'd left it unhitched at home. "We can count on one hand the number of people who know about your place. Besides me, that is."

"And," Akabane continued, warming to the subject now that he knew he could count on the other man's reliability, "she'll be even safer with you, if I leave her in your care tomorrow when I have to go visit Janus…"

"She's only been with you one day and already you're hitting me up for babysitting duty?" Maguruma was amused.

"She's quite easy to care for," Akabane told him. "She has excellent manners and does as she's told, so I can't imagine she'd give you any problems. She might even speak to you, or to your children, if you let her play with them."

"I'll talk to Suzume," Maguruma said. "I don't think it'll be a problem, though. What's Janus want?"

Janus was the contact who had been feeding Akabane the information on the mysterious serial killer of transporters called the Middleman. She also occasionally recruited Doctor Jackal for jobs. Anyone who was anyone of importance in the underworld knew Janus, or at least was familiar with her reputation, but she was, like Akabane, choosy about the clients she did business with. Favored agents received first crack at choice jobs, and Doctor Jackal's name was number one on her list.

"What she always wants," Akabane shrugged. "My time. I had planned to keep our appointment today, but I called her to cancel on account of Mathilda and this job we're taking. She didn't sound terribly disappointed."

"I imagine she's a pro at concealing it, though," Maguruma said. "She pays well, but the money's not worth what it would probably cost if somebody crossed her the wrong way. At least that's the impression I got when she brought me in on a few jobs you and I did for her. Remember that weekend in Nagasaki over the summer? I'm not so old to be getting gray yet, but I swear, that one added more than a couple of white hairs!"

"We've spent several weekends in Nagasaki; one more makes little difference to me. Still, I can't say as I know Janus that well, but I'm inclined to agree with your assessment," Akabane answered. "But I suppose in her profession she has to be ruthless. She deals with quite a few rough types, I'm told."

"What's her business again?"

"Commodities and shipping, I think," Akabane said. "She's never said exactly, and I've never thought to ask."

"More like you were more interested in the buckets of blood she was promising you every time she rang your number," Maguruma chuckled.

"And your point is?" Akabane chuckled in return.

"Everybody's priorities are different," Maguruma said.

"True, that," Akabane agreed.

It was dark by the time they reached the pickup point, a garish club in the Ginza entertainment district that looked as though it had seen better days. Shiny suits and pomaded hairstyles rippled along with ordinary citizens in never-ending colors as yakuza prowled the nearby streets, marking their territories with belligerent mannerisms of typical masculinity. Though this wasn't a section known for extreme violence, it was still not a place to wander carelessly into. The gangsters that controlled their empires here were only slightly less forgiving of the locals than lost tourists.

Doctor Jackal's status among the agents of the underworld granted both Akabane and Maguruma a peculiar immunity, and when Akabane exited the truck to go collect the cargo he found that the throngs parted for him quite willingly, as though he were the instrument commanding the Biblical spread of the Red Sea, and he had no trouble entering the club to locate their client.

Inside he was greeted by a chaotic assault of noise and scent. The pachinko parlours upstairs were doing big business, and the crowds constantly shifted from there to the bar and the stage with the dancing girls and back again. He hated doing business inside such places, where his senses were forced to withstand the barrage for courtesy's sake. Akabane had perfected a mental shield to cope with it, however, and he allowed the vulgar displays to wash over his inner armor like water off a duck's back. He flicked his gaze in slow lengths across the crowds, dismissing the club staff – which consisted of scantily clad females and bulky bouncers – and its patrons – half of whom were yakuza, easily identifiable by their outrageous styles and occasionally missing pinky fingers - and looking for someone who would recognize his presence for what it was.

At length, a man began to weave his way through the club towards Akabane. Short and stocky, with a ponytail that looked like it was down a few quarts of grease, he rubbed his stubble-dotted chin with apparent anxiousness. He caught Akabane's eye, and by mutual agreement the two men headed for a back room near the bar.

Inside this room, the man was first to speak. "Jackal-sama. I'm so glad you could make it." By his roughened voice, Akabane recognized him as the same man who'd called him earlier today. "It should be an easy trip for you, with your success rate."

"I dislike easy," Akabane said coolly. "I'm rather hoping that there will be some challenge to it. I do so enjoy a stimulating experience, you see."

"There will be, there will be," the man gushed, remembering why he'd chosen this particular agent. "I just heard that my rival has his own couriers on their way here now. You have perfect timing."

"The cargo?" Akabane prompted, wanting to be out of this odious place as soon as possible. Coming home with the stench of stale cigarettes embedded in his clothing was the last thing he felt like doing. He couldn't care less about the client's personal worries.

"Ah, yes." The man went to a small cabinet file at the other side of the room. While he rummaged through its contents, Akabane idly watched the people through the double-sided mirror installed by the door.

A young yakuza was trying to win the attentions of one of the dancers; he posed for her benefit but she turned away from him when another man stepped in and shoved him aside. For a second it appeared as if a fight was imminent, but the first yakuza backed down when his rival produced a knife and brandished it meaningfully. Thus defeated, the first man slunk into the shadows where he could nurse his sorrows over a fresh mug of alcohol, and the rival and his girlfriend flounced off in triumph.

"Here you are." The man returned carrying a thin manila envelope. This he placed inside a briefcase, which had a lock on it, and he latched it securely before handing the case to Akabane. "This is to reach Iken-san before dawn. I truly appreciate your service, Jackal-sama."

Akabane smiled and cleared his throat delicately, a reminder to one who ought not to have to be reminded of a crucial component of such a transaction.

The man bowed, flashing a trembling smile as he remembered his cue. He opened a laptop that was sitting on the desk. "Where would you like your fee sent?"

Akabane detailed the pertinent specifics of an account, and the man obligingly carried out the transfer of funds. The money was moved in minutes, and at last Akabane was free to escape this bastion of depravity.

He did so with brisk but restrained grace – for one thing, it would have been rude to openly show his irritation. More importantly, one did not offer any hint of weakness in the company of one's potential enemies. Running indicated fear, and fear was a weakness he could not afford. Not when one was the infamous Doctor Jackal, himself feared across the lands.

"A most wretched place," Akabane complained to Maguruma when he rejoined the driver inside the truck. "I imagine if you were the smoking type, you could get high from the fumes alone without ever needing to actually light one of those horrid things!"

"Roll down the window if you want," Maguruma said, taking it in stride. "I can put the heat on my side – oh boy. Company," he said in a lower voice as movement in one of the mirrors drew his attention.

Akabane had already spotted the rival couriers slinking their way around the back of the vehicle. Four, possibly five men, likely all armed with blunt weapons. An exercise, to be sure, but hardly a worthwhile effort. Even so, appearances could be deceiving, and Akabane considered himself an optimist in that regard. Maybe he would get lucky and one of these ruffians would offer him a tempting battle.

"When I clear the truck, take off. Round the block and be prepared to hit the gas as soon as I've got footing," he told Maguruma, who nodded and kept his hand on the gearshift, one foot ready to tromp the pedal.

Akabane flung open the door and leapt from the top step as neatly as any cat. He noted with some disappointment the reactions his sudden appearance garnered; obviously his hopes weren't to be met this evening. Any cursory greetings were preempted by the roar of Maguruma's truck's engine, as the vehicle lurched into drive and growled its way clear of the space.

Two of the thugs started to give chase before realizing that they were no match for several tons of steel boring down the road; sadly, they were also no match for the man who had stayed behind. They fell, quiet like autumn leaves in their passing from the world, and Akabane turned his smile to the remaining three.

One of them he recognized as the gangster who'd been romancing the dancer inside the club. Akabane lowered his knives in invitation. "A word of advice, if I may. Cowardice is not appealing to women."

The young man's eyes hardened, the words having hit home. He pulled out a spiked mallet and swung it at Akabane's head – or where he thought Akabane's head would be, because the other had moved well ahead of time to avoid what might have been a fatal blow. Three swipes of the scalpel – one horizontal, one vertical, and one diagonal, all combined into a single flowing stroke – and the yakuza proved to be a failure in both love and war.

"Such a waste," Akabane sighed aloud. One of the many reasons he disdained emotion was the liability it presented in a fight. Anger not harnessed and corralled led to careless mistakes, the proof of which was ample in the scarlet letter's outline seeping onto the ground. The only people he'd ever known who were the exceptions to this rule were the Get Backers, and their puzzle was as intriguing as it was maddening.

Two gang members were left, and by mutual unspoken agreement they decided it was better to cut their losses and run. Unfortunately for them, Akabane believed it was better to just plain _cut,_ and he did, the man nearest him managing to make it an entire two feet ahead before blood erupted from his savaged torso in a brilliant spray.

The last man finally accepted that he would have to fight his way to freedom if he wanted to see the coming dawn. He stopped, spun and hurled a handful of shurikens at his opponent, then barreled immediately after them for a surprise attack.

Akabane dodged the deadly stars with nary a rip in his clothing and stepped forward to catch his enemy off guard. The gangster halted just out of immediate reach; he drew an oddly-curved blade and glared at Akabane, making a motion with his hand: _come on if you're going to._

This was more like it.

This was what he enjoyed most.

And what one enjoyed, one tended to be rather good at…

"How kind of you to accommodate me at last," Akabane told him, raising four shining points in answer. "A knife-user? I should like to see how your skill fares against mine."

They circled each other cautiously, each gauging the other's stance and measuring his chances of success. Akabane was already fairly certain he would dispatch this one with minimal effort, but first he wanted to see if the man's prowess was anything noteworthy. In his experience, most knife-fighters were poorly acquainted with their chosen weapon and handled it with little respect, or worse, sheer incompetence.

The knife is a close-range weapon: to use it, one must be willing to go face to face – quite literally, in some instances – with one's opponent. More than that, one must be willing to deal a strike sufficient enough for one's intent; usually, that intent is fatal, and for such to occur it is necessary to withstand the rush of heat from escaping blood, even organs – the loss of life itself. Any amateur can hack and slash with impunity. It takes a professional to orchestrate his wounds to a calculated effect and remove the emotional – the sights, the sounds, even the smells – to a place where they are merely byproducts of the finished artistry. Such is the work of a surgeon.

Such is the expertise of Doctor Jackal.

The gangster scored points for not making the first move straight away. He waited for his prey to come to him, as evidenced by the come-hither gesture he'd given Akabane. Akabane, however, didn't want the game to end too quickly, as he knew it would if he took up the offered gauntlet. Instead, he withdrew his scalpels and turned and sprinted down a nearby alley. A little rabbit hunt could be quite stimulating in its own right.

Footsteps behind him let him know that the other was taking the bait, and Akabane slowed his pace a little so as not to lose him too soon. A grotto rife with shadows was the perfect spot to test their mettle, and he headed for the semi-enclosure knowing that his 'hunter' would follow.

His heart was beating faster. His mind was on hyper-focus. He felt like he was walking on a thin beam stretched above an endless abyss. One move, be it right or wrong, could decide the entire game for or against him.

He felt like he was having _fun._

The gangster didn't disappoint. He entered the trap cautiously, suspecting an ambush, and seemed surprised when nothing leapt at him immediately. He turned in all directions, straining to make out any movement that would indicate prey, and was quite startled when he stepped backwards and felt the pinprick of a knifepoint digging into the skin on the back of his neck.

"Alone at last. Now we can get down to business," Akabane pronounced with satisfaction.

The man whirled, cursing under his breath. Two blades hissed at Akabane's midsection, but he had already anticipated this sort of an attack. He parried the blows with his own knives and flicked a pair of shallow cuts across the sides of the other's exposed forearms.

"Sloppy. I hope that's not all you've got."

The man ignored the blood streaming down his arms in thin lines and bared his teeth at Akabane. "You bastard!"

"Sticks and stones," Akabane returned calmly, raising his scalpels again. "Shall we?"

This time his opponent chose to draw more shurikens. At closer range, Akabane had a more difficult time evading them, and one actually whizzed by the side of his neck near enough to scratch – but not break – the skin. He exhaled a pent-up breath, withholding the little quiver of tension that was beginning to coil pleasantly in his belly.

"_Much_ better."

They went toe to toe with their blades again in a furious whirl of bodies. By now the gangster had realized that he was outclassed, and was seeking an opening through which to take down his enemy in a single strike. Akabane tempted him repeatedly but was careful not to allow that chance to manifest completely; he may have been a glutton for danger but he was no fool. Fools were weak, made inexcusable mistakes. Fools ended up dead. Doctor Jackal had not gotten where he was today by being so careless.

Vaguely he was aware of the idle rumble of Maguruma's truck somewhere in the vicinity. Akabane paid the noise little heed. Gouzou would wait for him whether it took thirty seconds or thirty minutes. And dawn was well ahead by several hours…the cargo didn't have to reach its intended recipient until then.

The thug was growing impatient from being strung along. He lashed out, his curved blade from earlier ripping a gash in the upper left sleeve of Akabane's coat.

That annoyed him. Akabane had long ago accepted the fact that his wardrobe was prone to suffering heavy casualties in his line of work, but that didn't mean that he also enjoyed having to repair or replace his clothing. The coat was a favorite and its style hard to come by; one of the reasons he kept the number of a highly skilled tailor in his cell log.

It was time to get serious. His opponent was letting his hostilities get the better of him and unless he managed to reign in that turbulence the fight would only degenerate into mindless violence. "It's nothing personal, I assure you," he told the man as he pulled all eight scalpels in his hands to the surface and swooped in, "but I do have a schedule to keep, and unfortunately you don't seem to want to participate in my little experiment. Pity. I would have liked to have seen the limits of your talent."

"You want talent, you psychotic asshole?" the other snarled. "Try this on for size!"

He sheathed the blade he'd been using and reached behind his back with both hands. Next thing Akabane knew he was fending off an advance of spinning blades arcing in waves towards him. He paused in his own attack to study the offensive, recognizing the distinct sickle-shape of a modified scimitar, and noting with appreciation the way the man's fingers flipped and spun the handles of his weapons to make the steel's lethal beauty shine as it ought. This was most welcome indeed.

He let the other back him into a corner, thinking that at last they could cast aside all pretenses and fully engage in the thrill. As Akabane lifted a bristling hand to begin the defense, the gangster suddenly pulled back his daggers, spun on his heels and raced for the alley's exit without a backwards glance.

It hadn't been a challenge, after all – merely a diversion.

Akabane felt insulted. All that flashy performance and nothing to show for it? Truly a disappointing evening. It looked like there was no help for it now. He extended a lone scalpel and chased the other down.

For a split-second the impulse fluttered over his mind; he _could_ permit this one indulgence, let the other get away unscathed – to cut down this sapling might be too much of an imposition. The man _had_ shown considerable skill, more so than the usual hooligans he encountered, and if allowed to further his training might develop into an impressive fighter in good time. And if fate were feeling particularly kind, she would grant the crossing of their paths once more down future roads…

Akabane dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it entered his head. Quarter was a luxury he could ill afford. The spared man would boast of his escape from the dreaded Jackal, and the underworld would set itself ablaze with wildfire rumors that he'd gone soft and was therefore an easy mark from that moment on. The strong always took down the weak; that was the way of nature and Akabane would easily admit to being a creature of habit. This was his calling, no less.

The would-be courier was fast, but no match for the doctor in peak form. A heartbeat of a J-slash later, Akabane's uncooperative opponent tripped and tumbled across the ground in a splash of color. He landed sprawled on one side, arms and legs akimbo in what surely must be an uncomfortable position, and lay gasping and twitching.

Akabane went to have a look at his handiwork and discovered that the scalpel had only brushed the heart instead of normally piercing it. He frowned. Perhaps his trajectory had been a bit off there. He knelt by the man's side, careful not to get any bloodstains on his clothes if he could help it, and gently adjusted the dying body's limbs into a more dignified repose.

"That was uncalled for," he said quietly. "Running away is for cowards and rodents, not grown men. You displayed admirable bravery back there; why you chose not to follow through on it is a mystery that, sadly, will pass from this world along with you. And here if you'd at least made an attempt to accommodate me we both might have learned something important from our chance encounter."

"Go…to…hell, Jac – " The gangster couldn't finish before gagging on a rising current of blood.

Akabane waited for it to stop dribbling down his chin before speaking again, in a kinder tone than the last, for the other's words were born solely of mortal fear. "I assure you, I have been there and back again, and no doubt I will someday arrive at those same gates for one last eternal dance." He paused. It was taking longer than usual for this one to shuffle off his physical coils. "I do thank you, however, for the brief pleasure you brought me tonight. In gratitude, I offer you this option: you may choose to continue as you are until the spasms cease naturally, or I can end your suffering quickly. The choice is yours."

The man's eyes darted wildly from Akabane to some unseen specter off to the side. He knew now, what was coming, that there was no avoiding it. He gargled on another rush of blood and began to shiver uncontrollably in the final stretches. "Please," he rasped on a fading whisper.

Akabane nodded. "Very well. Tilt your head back for me if you would, please."

The other blinked. Obligingly, he struggled to raise his head, turning his neck so that the vulnerable area was fully exposed. Akabane took careful hold of his head in one hand, ascertaining that the angle was correct, and then he placed his other hand by the back of the skull near the ear. He shoved a scalpel directly through the flesh underneath the bone, deep into the meat of the brain.

The man inhaled sharply, his body going rigid as he held the breath – and then the muscles relaxed and the air streamed out in a slow hiss, his eyes rolling upward and sagging to the side in a perfectly blank expression.

Akabane withdrew his knife and eased the dead man to the ground. So that the deceased might be looked upon with some honor by whoever eventually found him, he picked up one of the daggers the man had dropped and fit it into one of his hands in a battle pose. He reached over and closed the eyelids, holding his hand over the face for several minutes to fix them in a permanent slumber.

Not his best work, but a respectable _shi no jundo_ nonetheless – this makeshift memorial was perhaps the one merciful facet of his ruthless persona: a purity only he was best qualified to deliver.

"A good evening to you, my friend. May you have ample opportunity to practice your knife-wielding skills in whatever afterlife finds you."

Akabane stood, dusting off his trousers and coat, and checked his gloves for stains. Finding none, he tipped his hat in farewell at the corpse. He turned and walked out of the alley to go meet Maguruma.

--

TBC


	5. Suspicions and Signs

Title: The Keeper's Watch

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

- According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

- Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

"That didn't take long."

Akabane shrugged as he climbed inside the truck and belted himself in. "It seldom does." He glanced at Maguruma. "I see you survived handily as well."

"Oh?"

Purple eyes twinkled with dark amusement. "You haven't met the Middleman."

"And I hope I never do," Maguruma said, not bothering to disguise the shudder that ran through him. "Like I said, I'll rest a whole lot easier once somebody takes him out of commission."

"Preferably not before I have my chance," Akabane said. "I should like to see what he's got first. Doesn't it make you even the slightest bit curious, how he managed to dispatch all those other transporters?"

"Not really, but then I don't have a death fetish like you do."

Akabane half-smiled but refrained from correcting him as to the nature of his fascination. Instead he said, "Think about it, Gouzou. Six transporters, all of whom are experts in their field, and the Middleman cuts them down like blades of grass under a sharp frost. You have to admit, Dragon Saito was no pushover."

"No," Maguruma agreed. "But I don't need details to tell me when something's bad news. The very fact that somebody like Saito can get popped off as easily as he did says it all."

The Middleman was so named for his victims' chosen professions: all of the known dead thus far had been transporters, hence the media reports calling to mind a vivid reminder of the phrase 'cutting out the middleman.' As a result the _hakobiya_ were on edge these days. They all knew that any trip could be their last, of course – it was simply the nature of the job. But as Maguruma had pointed out, the higher-ranked transporters were no opponents to take lightly. Dragon Saito had acquired his moniker after stories circulated of his being able to wrestle and kill fully-grown Komodo dragon lizards with his bare hands.

Somehow the Middleman had a sixth sense of when to strike, and had taken each victim by surprise during the middle of a job. The murders were spaced unevenly, in keeping with the fluid nature of the transport business: some days were slow while others raced by with offers. But always they carried the same gruesome endings. None of the killed transporters had met with a swift demise.

Akabane was morbidly curious to know how the killer pulled it off. To carry out such lengthy executions would have meant the possibility of attracting unwanted attention; unless the Middleman had a way of cordoning off a route of discovery, it was near impossible to commit slaughter in public areas without drawing immediate notice from the victim's screams. Each corpse had been found in an easily accessible area, proof of the Middleman's desire to boast of his deeds.

Maguruma continued. "One of these days he's going to come looking for us, unless the yakuza or the cops find him first. And frankly, I'm pushing for the yakuza to do it because they'll take care of it permanently."

"Vengeful much?"

Maguruma's hands tightened subtly on the wheel. "I worked with Touzen Masafumi once, when I was starting out in the business. Decent guy. Had a family." He paused. "I don't want my wife to have to explain to my kids why Daddy's not coming home again."

His words stirred something in Akabane that he'd thought was long since buried, and old memories swirled restlessly in his head. Akabane ruthlessly stuffed them back into antiquity where they belonged. There was no help for the dead now.

"I told you," he explained patiently. "The yakuza won't succeed. They can put as many of their clans into it as they want, but they'll never come close to touching him."

"Care to bet on that?" Maguruma snorted. "By screwing with the _hakobiya_, the Middleman's screwing with them too, especially after this last one. The guy left the body right in a boss's garage, and if that's not a brazen thumbing of the nose I don't know what is. The yakuza are mad as hornets right now. They'll be swarming the city looking for the Middleman's head."

"They've tried outside contracts. It doesn't work. The hitters end up as dead as the transporters," Akabane said.

Maguruma blanched. "No kidding."

"It's true. Janus told me so. She has access to the clan underworld and the police network. She knows what's going on well before anyone else ever gets wind of it."

"Shit."

Akabane smiled. He leaned over and gently squeezed Maguruma's shoulder. "Stop worrying so much, Gouzou. It's bad for your blood pressure. You need to relax." He elaborated when the other man tried to flatten him with a sour glare. "I've been studying this ever since it began. The Middleman's proceeding in an organized fashion. The higher a level he reaches, the more notice he attracts. We have one more to go before he cracks the top elite – you, Lady Poison, and me. Assuming he manages to defeat Spydra Kintaro – which, I might point out, would be no easy feat considering Spydra's abilities – he'll have to face us on our own turf eventually. He only attacks the transporters when they're hired singly. Therefore our strategy should be safety in numbers."

"United we stand, divided we fall, eh?"

Akabane nodded. "As long as we work in our trio, or even in pairs, I'm confident that our numbers present the winning odds in our favor, especially given our respective talents."

"Funny. I recall somebody saying something similar when we first met the Get Backers."

Akabane frowned. "The Get Backers are a special exception."

"So's the Middleman," Maguruma returned, unsmiling.

Akabane's lips thinned. He couldn't really argue that, he supposed.

The rest of the drive home was uneventful. They stopped off at the far west end of town to make their delivery and then it was on to Akabane's house. At one point, Maguruma ventured, "How do you suppose Mathilda's doing?"

Akabane's gaze slid sideways, towards him. Then, "Sleeping."

Up to now he'd conveniently tucked all thoughts of the child in the back of his mind, certain that he could resume caretaker duties where he'd left off. But now that Maguruma had gone and dredged the subject up again, ominous little threads began to weave their sinister doubts. Had he correctly judged the amount of sedative? Was she really as safe as he'd claimed, all alone in his house with naught but a cat and a little rosebush for company?

Nonsense, Akabane scolded himself. He was a trained physician, quite knowledgeable in the proper administration of narcotics; thus there was little chance he'd given Mathilda far more drug than necessary. The location of his home had been chosen with privacy of utmost importance in mind; he received no visitors other than those few people he approved of, and the handful of enemies he could honestly claim as credible threats possessed no knowledge of its whereabouts. There was no cause for worry. None at all.

_Interesting choice of words,_ his subconscious taunted. _Was_ he worried?

Of course not, he reassured himself. He was merely ensuring the safety of one of his interests. It was perfectly natural to be concerned over possible problems. Not that there could be any. After all, Maguruma had expressed his doubts earlier and had seemed at ease once Akabane had explained things to him…

Akabane frowned. It had been an acceptable night's outing until his comrade had opened his mouth.

The awkward silence held for a few more moments, until Maguruma spoke again. "I talked to Suzume while you were in the club. She says an extra little one to watch isn't a problem, if you still want to bring her over tomorrow while you deal with Janus."

"I appreciate that," Akabane said, mentally signaling the driver to let the topic rest after this.

"What time's your appointment?"

"Not until two. I shouldn't be much more than an hour, hour and a half at most, unless Janus is feeling conversational. I don't anticipate our session lasting any longer than usual, though."

"I've got a few errands to run in the morning, but I'll swing by and pick the both of you up then," Maguruma told him. "You want me to drop you off first, or do you just want to leave straight from my place?"

"I might as well leave from your home. Janus doesn't live that far away and unless it snows as hard as it's been threatening to do, I can walk."

Akabane thought that that was it, their discussion was done with. He tugged his hat lower over his face and leaned back in his seat to catch a catnap, but his peace was not to be. Maguruma didn't have a reputation for being a no-brakes man for nothing.

"What are you going to do if you can't find the kid's family and more jobs come up? I won't always be available for watchdog duty, you know. And Suzume's got her work to think of too. You won't be able to count on her as an easy fix."

All valid points, of course. The only other person Akabane could ask for assistance would be Himiko, and he was loath to drag her into this if he could help it because it would mean a thorough interrogation. She was too stubborn to let a mystery go so easily. Not that Akabane didn't trust her at his back – he did, implicitly – but he wasn't feeling up to withstanding the kind of third degree he knew she was capable of.

He also wasn't keen on being grilled about the nature of his relationship with her half-brother. Maybe Ban Midou didn't care who knew about his sex life, but Akabane preferred to practice a little more discretion in intimate relationships.

He sighed, winding in his irritation before it could lash out at Maguruma. "The police will have to come through sooner or later. If they don't, I'll go through as many channels as it takes until I have a worthy lead. Until then, there's no point in worrying over it, is there?"

"Easy for you to say. You're an adult. Or should be."

Akabane frowned. He fixed Maguruma with a look that clearly indicated he was reaching the limits of his tolerance. "If you're concerned about the draught I gave her, allow me to put your mind at ease over that once and for all. I don't intend on making a habit of it; it was a last-moment resort, as I explained. In the future I will make every effort to locate a suitable guardian in the event I happen to be called away on business. I can only put my life on hold for other accommodations for so long, Gouzou. You know that. You also know that I take my responsibilities quite seriously and this one is no different. If I had meant any harm towards the child I would have dealt it the moment she set foot onto my doorstep. I dislike unannounced visitors. But I _will _protect Mathilda, and see to it that she is raised in as much of a stable environment as I am able to provide during the time that she is with me. Considering the circumstances, I think those are all reasonable expectations."

Maguruma had raised a brow, but held his thoughts to himself for several minutes. Finally he said, "I've said it before and I'll say it again. I just don't get you sometimes. And I probably never will," he finished with resignation.

"You needn't trouble yourself on my account," Akabane told him tartly.

"Oh, I won't," the other transporter said. "But I think it's awfully interesting that one little orphan girl should draw this much concern from you. You aren't half as accommodating to me or Himiko."

"Only when you deserve it. You both dwell on useless things far more than is healthy."

"That a professional or personal opinion?"

"Both."

Maguruma grinned. "Well, you know what they say about opinions and assholes – we all have 'em."

Akabane sent him a withering look. "Crudity doesn't become you, Gouzou. I think with my particular education and experience I'm entitled to a higher level of judgment."

"And pride goeth before the fall," Maguruma returned without missing a beat. "Out of curiosity, is there any sin in the top ten you _haven't_ busted yet?"

Akabane smiled feline indolence. "It's only a sin if you subscribe to the system," he shot back. "As for curiosity, you'd do well to remember what it does to those unwary." It wasn't quite a warning, but it was close enough to signal the danger of treading on thin ice.

Maguruma, however, had a talent for skating over that ice with nary a crack. "I'm just saying. You've got an extra responsibility to worry about now. You can't afford any missteps on this one if you want to live up to your standards of excellence. So remember that if you wake up in Hell because you were dying to spend a night with the Middleman."

--

Akabane was still brooding over his associate's comments when he arrived back at his house. Stubbornly, he left off checking on the sleeping child in his guest room and went about his normal post-job routine: deposit boots, gloves, coat and hat in their appropriate places, pour a glass of bedtime wine, check his phone for missed calls and prepare any necessary email communications. He refused to give credence to the lingering idea that he was indeed...worried.

It wasn't as if she was _his_ child, after all. He hadn't deposited her square on his doorstep. He hadn't insisted that she come live with him (well, he had in a way, but that was beside the point), disrupting his routine, interfering with his pursuits... He owed her nothing; what he was doing was common courtesy and no more.

Maybe he should have left her with Detective Fujita, if the girl's presence was going to cause this much irritation. Akabane disliked feeling put on the spot by treacherous insinuations...emotions. How silly indeed, that one little orphan child should take up this much room in his waking thoughts.

As if conspiring against him, fate had seen to it that there was little to be done by way of work-related business. His phone's cache was empty, and so was his inbox. Reluctantly, he closed his laptop and went to see to Mathilda at last.

He resolutely ignored the dozens of horrid scenarios flashing at light speed through the corridors of his mind. Anything could have happened to the little girl in his absence. Maguruma was right. There was no excuse for this sort of carelessness...

She was nestled in the center of the bed, eyes closed, a perfect little cherub at rest. Her feline companion was curled into a half-moon at her side. Seshat lifted her head to blink a drowsy welcome at him but other than that wasn't inclined to disturb her own nap.

Akabane started to enter the room and stopped himself. Everything was fine. Why was he being such a – well, the word fool came to mind -

It was Maguruma's fault, he decided. Gouzou had transferred his own parental views onto Akabane and he was now reaping the benefits. Akabane frowned. Obsessive compulsion did not suit him one whit.

Even so, he found himself slowly taking a step into the room, and then another step, and another. Before he knew it he was standing by the bedside looking down at his still-sleeping charge. With a critical eye he noted that the potion he'd administered earlier was working as it ought to. Mathilda's chest was rising and falling in normal breathing pattern, and her skin tone was every bit as healthy as it had been when he'd left her. When he reached down a hand to take her pulse, it was beating as it should, a level, gentle throb of life.

Akabane expelled a quiet sigh. He'd gotten himself worked up for nothing. Nothing at all.

He stood silently, torn between self-disgust and an odd relief that was as aggravating as it was comforting. No point in chastising himself for his unwelcome anxiety now. He brushed the debris of his kindling annoyance aside and tucked the covers more securely around their bundle. He turned to give Seshat an acknowledging cheek-caress and something caught his eye.

The purple rose's pot had been placed – still wrapped in Mathilda's blanket, although the folds of it had been pulled down within the safety of the house to allow the plant to breath – upon the nightstand next to the bed. Akabane peered at it curiously. It seemed...shrunken, or perhaps it was just his imagination in this dim lighting? It had been a small plant to begin with. Some of the buds weren't even matured. He pursed his lips. Maybe its outing in the cool weather hadn't been good for it, even though it had been protected from any possible frost by the blanket's covering.

Or maybe it just needed a good watering and a dash of fertilizer. Akabane shook his head, mentally adding plant care to his list of things to do for the morrow. He had given the rose to Mathilda as a gift, after all – it wouldn't do to have the thing perish so quickly on his watch.

Assured that all was as it should be and having silenced the restlessness in his head, he left the room without a backwards glance. He would need his own rest to be clearheaded for the next day's tasks.

--

Morning dawned on the Akabane household with all the oppression of a sledgehammer. Sullen skies threatened an avalanche but the weather anchors couldn't seem to make up their minds about the possibility of snow, though the winds hissed dire predictions outside. Akabane chose to interpret the weather's patterns as holding for the time being, and attired himself as such after his shower – eschewing full business dress until such time as he would have to leave the house for his appointment.

Breakfast for everyone was easily rendered; Seshat the cat gobbled her portion of canned kibble while Mathilda and Akabane dined at a more sedate pace, enjoying the piping hot rice porridge and jellied toast he'd made. While they ate, he spoke to the girl as he explained their plans for the day.

"I have some business I must see to later this afternoon, Mathilda-chan. You'll be staying with Maguruma-san and his family for a short while during my absence. You'll like them, I'm sure. They're very kind people, and I trust them to take care of you, so I hope you'll be a good girl and behave for them." He delivered this announcement with a smile that was equal parts stern and warm; he didn't expect that Mathilda would give the Magurumas any problems, but part of good parenting was laying down the boundaries early on.

"In the meantime, perhaps you might like a nice bubble bath, hmm? Don't worry, we'll make sure your hair is perfectly dry before we leave the house. It wouldn't do for you to catch a cold so close to the Christmas season."

Akabane mulled that thought over while he did the dishes. It wasn't impossible that a child could get lost in the hustle and bustle of holiday rush, but he'd never heard of such an occurrence lasting any longer than several hours at most. Mathilda's family, assuming she had one – and surely she did, she was too beautiful and healthy a little girl to have wandered in off the rough street slums of any city – had to be frantic over her disappearance. When he stopped by Makubex's after dealing with Janus he would ask the cyber-genius to do a more thorough search of all the missing children alerts in the area. Makubex would likely be able to learn more than the bureaucratic annals of the authorities themselves.

"There we are. Would you like to help me dry these so that I can put them away?" He found a clean towel and showed Mathilda how to dry the now-scrubbed utensils. She took to the task with her usual calm silence, and though several dishes were still slightly damp after she'd worked on them, she never once dropped or struggled with a single dish, and Akabane paid the oversights no heed. It was, he felt, important to keep a schedule as normal as possible in order to make Mathilda feel comfortable, and perhaps draw her out of her mysterious inner shroud. Daily chores would serve not only as a form of discipline but help to establish a routine for both of them.

"Thank you, Mathilda-chan. I truly appreciate your help," he told her with a genuine smile once they were finished. "Shall we start your bath, now?"

He led her to the guest bathroom and, after rolling up his shirt sleeves and tying back his hair, prepared the necessary ingredients: towels, soap, shampoo, and of course, the requisite bubbles, all of which – towels excepted – he'd purchased yesterday when they'd done their shopping. As a finishing touch, Akabane added one more item to the frothing water that he figured was practically mandatory for any true bubble bath. The small yellow duck toy bobbed expectantly, lending its ridiculous presence to complete the atmosphere of innocence.

Mathilda didn't appear impressed, but then she showed little focus to anything except the mists of her own mind. Despite this, Akabane felt certain that his efforts were appreciated. He suspected that hardly a thing passed by the child's notice, indifferent though she might seem to everything around her. He could respect that. He himself had learned to filter out the nuisances and debris of the outer world in order to function in the methods that most suited him. Who was he to quarrel with another's way of interaction – or apparent lack thereof?

He helped her to undress, placing her pajamas in a pile on the floor to add to the laundry hamper later, and knelt to assist her into the bathtub once he'd stuck a finger in it to ascertain that the temperature was acceptable. Mathilda sank up to her chin in strawberry-scented bubbles, blinking away those that tickled her cheeks with their fuzzy-sounding bursts. Disturbed by the motions of a larger form being immersed in the masses' midst, a tiny clump of foam floated into the air, and settled neatly on the tip of Mathilda's nose. She blinked – once, twice – then furrowed her little brows into a mild glower at the offending bubbles. Akabane couldn't help laughing softly as he picked up the washcloth and soaked it in the water.

"Here you go, Mathilda-chan." Carefully, he wiped the fizzling bit from her nose with the cloth. "Is that better?" Her relaxing expression indicated that this was a definite improvement, and he set to passing the cloth over her back and shoulders, working the bar of soap in it occasionally to generate a fresh cleansing lather. He released the cloth and soap, and cupped his hands to pour several streams of rinsing water over her skin.

"I'll let you do the rest, little one. But for now, I'll wash your hair for you, and that will be one less thing for you to have to worry about," Akabane said to her as he began dribbling handfuls of water onto her head, taking care not to drip any into her eyes. As if in cooperation, Mathilda lowered her eyelids and slowly tilted her head back so that the water ran away from her face.

Akabane smiled. She was enjoying herself, as well she should. Not such a surprise. Children were natural hedonists, born to embody the very vitality and passion of life.

A dead boy's face surfaced in his mind's eye and his smile sobered upon remembering how easily that life could vanish. Promptly he chased such thoughts from light, not wishing to spend his day bogged down in the muck of the past. Only the present mattered now. Presently, he was looking forward to a fruitful session with Janus and the acquisition of information from Makubex. And, of course, an eventual invigorating battle with the deadly Middleman. They were destined to meet, he believed. Such a scintillating opponent could only be meant for him alone. He couldn't imagine it any other way.

Mathilda's hair thoroughly soaked, he flipped the cap on the bottle he picked up. Baby shampoo, nice and gentle for a child's needs. Akabane squirted a blob of it into his hand and transferred it to the girl's hair. Earlier in the kitchen, he had caught her glance briefly skimming over his scarred hands, but she seemed to find no threat in their ghastly appearance and thus he was unconcerned about permitting this close contact. One less thing to dwell on, fortunately.

"This must feel nice, hmm, Mathilda-chan? They say a good scalp massage is quite beneficial to one's health. Of course, I'm a doctor, so I would know about such things. Ah, but when you're older you'll get to go to a real salon and discover all sorts of fun experiences, I'm sure. They take very good care of their lady clients. Some of them do more than just style hair, you know. They have fingernail paints, and toenail paints, and some will even do cosmetics. But that's a long ways off for you yet," he added fondly, working the suds into a lively cap of foam. "For now I'm sure you'd just like to be back home with your parents to enjoy the holiday. Maybe you have brothers, or sisters too? Pets or dolls, even. I'm sure they all miss you very much. I promise, I'll do whatever I can to get you back home in time for Christmas. I don't like being a long time away from my home either. I like my work, but it can be quite boring a good deal of the time, and I'd rather work in my gardens or read when I'm not busy with engagements."

Akabane left off shampooing Mathilda's hair and felt around the bottom of the tub for the drain plug. He pulled it out and turned the tub faucet on to a slow stream, testing the water's warmth. "I'm going to rinse your hair now, Mathilda-chan. It will go much easier if we do it this way. I'm letting some of the bathwater out so we don't overflow the tub. Would you lean back for me, please? That's right."

He helped her position her head beneath the running water, supporting her back with one hand while he combed out the shampoo suds with the fingers of his other. Soon the child's hair was free of lather, and the squeaky-clean strands glistened as freshly as the day they'd first sprouted.

Akabane replaced the drain plug and shut off the faucet when the water level was restored. He searched for the washcloth and soap bar, and handed these to Mathilda. "Rub this on your arms and legs, just like I did your back. There's a good girl. Don't forget to clean your face, too. I'll squeeze out some of this excess water from your hair and - "

He frowned at the little black mark high up on the nape of her neck. A missed smudge, or a birthmark of some kind? Curious, he drew Mathilda's hair further away from the area and leaned closer to have a look at it.

"That's _impossible._"

Akabane stared, disbelieving his sight at first. He squinted harder at the revelation, whose bolded darkness seemed to glare mockingly up at him. It couldn't be. But there was no mistaking the fluid lines of the brand.

Mathilda was carrying the same tattoo displayed on Akabane's upper left arm.

--

TBC


	6. Fun with hair dryers and music

Title: The Keeper's Watch

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above. Very minor canon manga bits from Akabane's past involving Semimaru Kanade.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

- According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

- Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

- The song "Smile" is written by John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons, with original music composed by Charlie Chaplin. No ownership or profit is claimed by me and none should be inferred from this use.

- See the end of this chapter for further fic notes as per Wikipedia.

- Many, many thanks to those of you who have read and/or reviewed this fic! :) I enjoy and appreciate every one of your comments, even if I don't always have the chance to respond to them.

- Special thanks goes to Kemurikat, who suggested the idea of Mathilda and Akabane playing music together. :)

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

When one is confronted with evidence of a horizon-upending nature, one's natural human response is to charge headlong into the arms of denial. Denial is comforting; it offers soothing blankness, the illusion that nothing has changed and that the world will remain the same as it has done since setting foot out of one's bed that same morning. But this childish illusion never lasts long, and depending on the degree of earth-shaking effected, one may find oneself incapable of processing any part of the current situation, much less applying those judgments in order to act as necessary upon it.

Kuroudo Akabane did not suffer such fools. He did not believe in indulging those kinds of personal failings. He prided himself on his ability to rapidly assess a situation and formulate a clear plan of precise action. Those traits had served him well during his career as a surgeon, and they continued to prove their worth every time he took on a transport mission fraught with inconceivable dangers. He was not someone who was prone to easy shocks.

Nonetheless, it came as a deep and rattling surprise to him when he laid eyes upon that sigil that he and the girl shared, and he hated himself for the tiny jab of doubt that pricked his heartbeat in mid-flutter. There had to be a logical explanation for this.

Akabane closed his eyes, took a breath, and reopened them. Focus. Calm. He withdrew his hands from Mathilda's head and rose to his feet.

"I have to go get something for a moment, Mathilda-chan. Please stay where you are. I won't be but a second."

He left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. One of the counter drawers was his designated miscellaneous storage – a repository for all those odds and ends that couldn't be accurately categorized but were important enough to warrant holding on to. Akabane pulled the drawer open and rooted around in the contents until he found what he wanted. He returned to the bathroom, magnifying glass at the ready.

Mathilda had obediently remained as directed, still sitting swathed in bubbles in the tub. She did not flinch or move when Akabane knelt by the side of the tub once more and lifted her wet hair out of the way.

He held the magnifying glass up to the tattoo. Under closer scope, it appeared more ominous than before, its black ribbons painting a harsh contrast to the pale porcelain of Mathilda's skin.

Akabane's eyes narrowed. He knew where she'd gotten it from, of course. There could be no doubt of the stylized script's origins. But what sort of game was being played here? He disliked being pitched onto an active chessboard as a pawn, and he had no illusions about his own immunity from the players' intentions, whatever those were.

Mathilda stirred beneath his touch. She looked up at him and he saw his own ferocious scowl reflected back in her dark eyes. Concerned that he might unduly frighten her, he relaxed his expression and moved the magnifying glass away.

"It's all right, Mathilda-chan. You've done nothing wrong."

She lowered her head again without making any comments of either the verbal or facial kind.

Akabane's frown returned, though not quite as dour as before. This was a complication he hadn't anticipated, nor did he have the time to attend to it straight away. He held in a sigh. They would just have to roll with the waves and hope that the next one wouldn't drag them under.

He set the magnifying glass up on the sink counter and reached for one of the larger bath towels, tugging it close to the side of the tub where it would be ready when needed. "Why don't you finish washing before the water turns chilly, all right? I need to make some phone calls here and then we'll get you dried and dressed." Akabane slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and took out his cell phone while Mathilda slowly set to making use of the washcloth and soap.

He dialed Maguruma's number first, to confirm that their schedule remained as planned. That done, Akabane scrolled to the email function and called up Makubex's contact from the menu. Due to the sporadic nature of inbound calls made within the Mugenjou boundaries, placing an actual call through phone lines was somewhat impractical. The computer connections suffered no such handicap, and Makubex preferred the glowing syntax of a screen's text as his primary mode of communications anyway. In short order Akabane tapped out his message requesting a late afternoon meeting and sent it. He was certain that the boy, or his second-in-command Sakura Kakei, would shortly respond in the affirmative. There were benefits to being the most feared transporter around.

Mathilda had carried out his instructions to the letter, sloshing the soapy cloth in the bubble-water to rinse it and make a second pass over her limbs to remove the suds. Now she sat still once more, staring at the unseen window that lent an inscrutable view inside her world. Akabane put his phone away and picked up the towel.

"When you stand up, hold on to the side of the tub so that you don't slip and fall. There's a girl." He draped the towel around her and wrapped it snugly before lifting her free of the tub and setting her down on the bath mat. He took another, smaller towel, and wrapped it turban-style around her head to corral her still-dripping hair.

Thus swaddled, Mathilda waited while he removed the bathtub drain once more. Akabane picked her up and carried her back to her room.

The new clothes that he'd bought yesterday had been unpacked and trimmed of their sales tags, and hung in orderly fashion inside the closet. Akabane set Mathilda on the edge of the bed and proceeded to scroll through selections until he found one that he decided would suit nicely, given the current weather conditions. He lifted the red corduroy overalls and their matching navy blue turtleneck from their hangers and placed these on the bed. After withdrawing the necessary undergarments from a nearby drawer, he put these next to the outfit.

Mathilda's head-towel had begun to slip. Akabane captured it before it could flop across her face and rubbed it gently over her head, pulling the excess water from her hair. When that was done he helped her to stand on the floor and whisked the larger towel around her repeatedly until not a drop of water remained. Dried, she cooperated with her normal good grace while he dressed her.

He had her sit on the edge of the bed once more so that he could put her socks on her; the shoes could wait until it was time to leave. Once that was done, he nodded with approval when she slid off the mattress to stand before him. He'd had her try on everything they'd bought beforehand, so the clothes fit her as they ought.

Akabane took Mathilda back into the bathroom, where he set her to brushing her teeth while he cleaned up the remnants of her bath. He rinsed out the last of the suds in the tub and gathered the used towels, as well as her discarded pajamas, and carried these to the laundry room, dumping them in the soiled hamper for later cleansing. He returned the magnifying glass to its kitchen drawer, and went to his own bathroom to retrieve one last item to complete Mathilda's grooming.

Coming back to her room, he searched the drawers of the nightstand for the new comb he'd bought, and took this plus his surprise into the bathroom. Mathilda had finished brushing her teeth and was using the clean cloth he'd given her to wipe away the last of the dampness ringing her mouth. Akabane set the comb on the counter and plugged in the small hair dryer.

"Have a seat, Mathilda-chan. This won't take long."

He approached her with the dryer in one hand and picked up the comb in his other, expecting her to sit upon the closed toilet seat as he'd directed. But Mathilda's little arm shot out like a bullet as soon as he got close, and shoved the dryer's nozzle away.

Startled, Akabane silently thanked his reflexes for being stalwart enough not to have dropped the instrument. He thought for a moment that she might have mistaken the dryer for a weapon of some kind and reacted accordingly, so he tried again, advancing slowly this time. But the instant he lifted the nozzle toward her head she slapped it away.

Akabane frowned. "Mathilda-chan, please. Be a good girl and sit still for me."

She sat on the toilet seat lid, but sure enough, when he tried once more to use the hair dryer, she gave it a violent thwack of her palm. Akabane started to reprimand her on it when he realized that she was glaring at him – or, to be more precise, at the maligned device in his hand. She was giving it the full force of her little knit brows and baleful pout as if it were a repulsive insect she'd discovered crawling on her arm.

Akabane hesitated. Perhaps his earlier assumption hadn't been entirely incorrect. He thought again of the accusing black spirals on the back of her neck. If she did indeed have certain associations... He held back a grim smile. It wouldn't be the first or the last time the City had conducted questionable experiments.

More surprising was the scrape of rawness in his chest at the thought of anyone doing such things to Mathilda. He of all people should know that certain people had few, if any, qualms about using children in any number of brutal ways, but before he'd always thought of these desecrations in the abstract. Now that he was faced with the possibility in real flesh and blood...

Akabane brushed these thoughts away almost as roughly as Mathilda had scorned the hair dryer. He had enough on his hands without dwelling on slippery emotions.

He set the dryer on the counter, taking care not to let it topple into the sink, and knelt in front of the irate little girl. "Mathilda-chan. I don't know why you're upset, but I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you. We need to dry your hair before we leave the house today. It's not healthy to be out in cold weather with wet hair. Hypothermia is very dangerous." He held up the comb. "We can't let your hair dry like that either, or it will get tangled and be harder to brush out, and it won't feel very pleasant for you if I have to do it that way."

Mathilda's scowl lessened but didn't recede entirely, fading into a sullen stare. Clearly she didn't trust the suspicious object.

Akabane put the comb on the counter. "It's just a hair dryer. Nothing more. Watch, I'll show you." He undid the band around his hair and picked up the dryer by its nozzle, careful to keep it at a nonthreatening angle. He slowly offered the handle of it to the child. "The green button turns it on, the red one, off. It's not even all that loud. It has adjustable speeds." He set the switch to the lowest level with a flip of his thumb. "Point the tip of it at me and see for yourself."

Mathilda eyed the thing with a look akin to the kinds Akabane had seen Himiko give a few of his messier handiworks. But she took up the gauntlet, warily reaching for the handle of the dryer and wrapping small but firm hands around it. Akabane turned his head to one side so that she could practice on him, and she flicked the on switch. A low burst of steady warm wind gusted forth and blew ropes of black into Akabane's face.

He waited while she moved the device over his head, ascertaining for herself that this machine did exactly what he'd said it would, that and nothing more. When she had reached a satisfactory conclusion she switched the dryer off.

Akabane turned to her and smiled, holding out his hand. "May I?"

She had stopped frowning and was back to peaceful blankness, a good sign. He gently took the hair dryer from her as she cautiously extended its handle to him. Akabane was oddly pleased by her trust, and made sure to work with care when he applied the dryer to her hair in turn. The end result was still a little damp, but the majority of moisture had been wicked away and any that was left would dry well enough before they left the house. Given that she'd acquiesced to his request with remarkably good spirit in spite of her obvious fear, Akabane felt it only fair to give her this relief from the full drying treatment.

"Good girl. Thank you, Mathilda-chan. Why don't you go and wait for me in the living room while I put this away and finish getting ready myself, hmm? I'll only be a few minutes. When I return we'll find something interesting to do to pass the time before we have to run our errands."

Mathilda was quick to obey, scooting off of her seat and quietly toddling towards the room, no doubt glad of the excuse to take herself as far away from her nemesis as possible.

Akabane coiled up the dryer's cord after unplugging it and took it back to his bathroom. As he was closing the cabinet door his cell phone beeped in his trouser pocket. He took it out and scanned the incoming message. Yes, Makubex was free to meet with him later this same day. Good. Akabane texted a suggestion for time; Makubex – or Sakura, whichever of them was at the communications helm at the moment – replied in the affirmative, and Akabane texted a thank-you in return.

He did not put his phone away immediately. Instead, he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped one side of it off of his shoulder just enough to use the cell's camera function to photograph the tattoo on his arm. That done, he replaced his shirt and set about acquiring the rest of his necessities.

"My, my, Seshat," he murmured to the cat who had joined him in the room while he was readying the rest of his professional attire, "this certainly is shaping up to be a busy day, hmm?"

"Nyao," Seshat answered, tail curling indolently around his legs.

Akabane knotted his tie and examined it critically for any out of place lumps. "Oh, I'm not complaining, dear. At least it's not boring." He ran a cursory hand through his hair - he'd combed it out after Mathilda's misguided but well-meaning attempt at stylization – and sighed as he studied his reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the front of his vest. He was the perfect image of a respectable businessman.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it was that Mathilda saw in a savage like him.

--

The infamous coat and hat waited expectantly by the front door where he kept them on their hanging pegs; when a mission was imminent, they seemed to attain a life force of their own, the black fabric of each swallowing up all light even faster than they soaked up the bloodstains that were their wearer's stock in trade. Akabane took down the coat but left his hat where it was, and brought his armful into the living room.

Mathilda was perched on the couch just as directed. She didn't move or respond to Akabane's greeting. He was content to let the silence pass as it was, and went to a small desk in one corner of the room. From the topmost drawer he took out a pair of miniature scissors, a spool of thread and a sewing needle. These in hand, he carried them and the coat over to the couch, where he joined his ever-watchful charge.

"A moment if you please, Mathilda-chan. I'm afraid I met with a bit of misfortune last night." Akabane examined the rip in the sleeve made by his unlucky assailant. It was a clean slice and would be easily repaired, but to have it done properly would require a tailor's services. For now, however, it would suffice with some amateur mending. Fortunately surgical skill was as easily applicable to material as it was to flesh. Akabane snipped a length of string, threaded the needle and set to work sewing up the damage. He believed in always presenting a tidy appearance and a torn coat just wouldn't do.

As he worked, he began humming one of his favorite songs under his breath, a cheerful lighthearted melody that never failed to amuse him. Midway towards the end of the second chorus, movement in the corner of his eye made him look up. Mathilda was still sitting beside him, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed straight ahead at only something she could see. But as Akabane hummed another line from the song, she lightly swayed to one side in time with it, and back again, and again.

Curious, that.

Akabane paused in his humming and when he stopped so too did Mathilda's swaying. He took up the verse once more and after a moment, she joined in soundlessly, rocking to the rhythm of his voice. He'd heard of autistic children displaying a keen preference for particular types of music, and he wondered if this was her unique affliction. Yet instinct told him that hers was not any ordinary world, nor one that could be so neatly categorized according to the limits of modern medicine. Whatever inspired her silence had nothing to do with any physical disorder, he was sure of it.

"Do you like music, Mathilda-chan? I shall have to show you something once I'm finished with this," Akabane said. "A pity you don't seem inclined to talk to me, else we could have some pleasant discussions, I'm sure." He smiled at the little girl, hoping to give her an opening to interject her first-ever spoken opinion, but she sat motionless and voiceless, her lashes on occasion slowly blinking away her endless stare into the otherworld she claimed dominion over.

Still unable to fathom why his own interest was becoming increasingly piqued by this mysterious child, Akabane resumed sewing up his ripped coat. When the gash was closed he returned thread, scissors and needle to their resting places, and went to hang up his coat until such time as it would be needed.

Akabane did not go back to Mathilda right away. He detoured towards his bedroom and entered the closet. When he emerged minutes later he was not empty-handed.

He paused in the hallway, silently questioning if he ought to be doing this. His skills weren't rusty in spite of having let the pipa sit unattended for ages. Did he dare stir the ghosts of a dead past? Oh, nonsense, he assured himself. He had to provide the girl with some sort of entertainment. Music was a hobby that would serve just as well as any other activity to engage her in.

Akabane went back to the living room. He laid the slim box he was carrying on the coffee table and sat with the pipa carefully balanced in his lap while he unwrapped it from its protective shroud, turning himself slightly to one side so that Mathilda could see what he was doing, should she choose to look directly at him.

"This is called a pipa, Mathilda-chan. It works like a guitar, with its strings producing the notes. But it is considered a more traditional instrument because of its history with ancient nobility." He adjusted the strings, checking to see that they were tightened correctly. "This one was given to me by an old friend I used to know a long time ago. He was a minstrel for his tribe. Do you know what a minstrel is? It's a person who does a lot of traveling, and serves as both a storyteller and a musician for people. My friend was a renowned one in his time. His specialty was haiku. It's a type of poetry that's very short but profound in the meanings it can convey."

Mathilda slowly turned, pulling herself across the couch to sit facing him with her legs tucked partially underneath. Akabane didn't fail to notice that she kept her feet off of the furniture, as any proper houseguest would. He smiled encouragingly at her, but her eyes remained downcast, her face a perfect blank.

He laid the pipa down in his lap and reached for the box on the table. "This is another gift he gave me once. It is called a _shakuhachi._" The box when opened produced a small thin bamboo flute, which Akabane offered to Mathilda. "You hold this end to your lips and blow gently on the mouthpiece there; that is what makes the sound. These holes - " he helped her to position the flute vertically, with her fingers tapped down over some of the holes - "are what make the different notes. Would you like to try it?"

Mathilda held the flute in place as though she were some sort of marionette, awaiting only the tug of the invisible strings to perform action. Akabane waited, but she continued to hold the instrument without making any move to play it. He shrugged and lifted the pipa in his hands. "That's all right. Perhaps I could play for you and you just listen instead, if you'd like."

He began strumming his fingers over the strings, testing their accuracy. Certain that they would function as intended, Akabane started to thrum out a melody and was surprised when Mathilda suddenly lifted the flute to her lips and blew a perfect intonation.

His hand stilled, but the flute did not. Slowly, Mathilda began to tap her little fingers over the holes as she'd been shown, and Akabane watched in amazement while she started a song of her own.

He recognized the melody, a soft and beautiful haunting that he'd heard once while attending a theatrical production with some clients as part of their business arrangements. He wondered how Mathilda had come to hear it – she was playing a beat slower than the original tempo, but her embouchure was near perfect. The notes were clear and poignant, and never once did she miss a single one or hesitate in her manipulation of the flute. Almost unconsciously, Akabane raised the pipa again and stroked the strings in time with her lead.

Child prodigies were rare but not unheard of. The great Madoka Otowa, for instance, blind since birth, had displayed an incredible talent for violin music that had made her a worldwide name. But doubtless she had been practicing since the day she was old enough to have picked up an instrument. Such discipline would have been necessary for her to have garnered the accolades that she did on a regular basis. This child, until now, had shown no other inclination for anything save a waking hibernation, and Akabane was puzzled as to where or how she could have obtained her skill, young as she was. It reminded him of Makubex, the technological boy wizard who had come from seemingly nowhere, yet exhibited remarkable prowess with all things computerized.

He thought again of the coiled ribbons from the tattoo they both possessed, and the ubiquitous City from where it had surely arisen. If they were responsible for this – and he wouldn't have put it past them at all - what purpose did the puppetmasters have, Akabane pondered, in placing this fragile and fascinating little girl with him of all people? He was about as unorthodox a choice for guardian angel as it got. Or perhaps this was someone's idea of a twisted joke – and if it was, one really had to wonder about the mental state of anyone, deity or mortal, that would surrender such an innocent into the ungentle paws of a beast like the Jackal.

That her caretaker was a much-feared, ever-loathed mercenary for hire didn't seem to bother Mathilda any, or if it did, she wasn't letting on as to how much she knew, if anything, about whose roof she currently resided under. Akabane had taken pains to keep his true profession a secret, not wishing to alarm the child, but more and more, he was getting the sense that she was far more perceptive than most children her age, and he half-expected her to suddenly turn to him with an accusing glare much like the one she'd shot at the hair dryer.

Strangely, the idea of this kindled a flicker of real disappointment within him. Akabane found it rather disconcerting that these pesky emotions could still wield a kind of power over him in spite of all his work at burying them into submission. Regret was a waste of time, and yet...it would be such a shame, a true pity, if Mathilda were to look upon him and deliver a singularly stabbing blow every bit as fatal as one of his scalpels. He didn't know why, and he didn't exactly enjoy the thought of it, but somehow a part of him cared about what she thought of him.

Which made no sense, Akabane knew. He'd never before given much thought to others' opinions of him. It was widely known that most people who knew of him or had met him considered him to be something on a par with pond scum, and he'd taken the hostilities and enmity in stride – what else could one expect when one's chosen field met with plenty of objection from the norm? Having decided long ago that such facades were not for him, he had cast aside his masks and found it an utterly thrilling, even freeing, experience, and had vowed not to look back from that point on.

So it came as an uneasy revelation that for the first time since taking on the mantle of gravekeeper Akabane found he could still feel things he'd thought were long since vanquished, things that remained common torments of the average human but that Doctor Jackal was supposed to be above. Odder still, and perhaps worse, he realized he was unwilling to discard such burdens prematurely despite the obvious disadvantages they presented him with. This too made little sense, and it was beginning to annoy him. He hoped that his meeting with Makubex would provide some satisfactory answers to the questions nagging at his mind.

For the time being, however, the moment was what mattered. Mathilda had given him hardly any trouble to speak of, and she was more pleasant company than many of the adults he dealt with. How unfortunate that she seemed bereft of speech, or he felt that they could have been able to conduct a sensible and informative conversation, inasmuch as her youth would have permitted. Whether it was because of his own educated upbringing, or a simple quirk of his, Akabane couldn't say, but he believed in treating children in an intelligent manner, as opposed to garbling nonsensical mush the way that so many people seemed to find amusing to do. He'd noticed that a measured exposure to the adult world, in appropriate increments, appeared to produce better-adjusted progeny.

He quickened his playing slightly, to see if Mathilda would notice. To his pleasure she did, and she managed to alter her playing to fit with his so that the two of them formed a coherent harmony. Akabane changed melodies, slowing down to allow her room to catch up, and was not disappointed when Mathilda too switched rhythms to keep pace with his.

"You really are a wonder, Mathilda-chan," Akabane murmured, more to himself than her. "Let's see if you recognize this..."

He relaxed his playing further, caressing the pipa strings while he waited for Mathilda to pick up on the song. He started to sing, watching as the little girl balanced the _fue_-instrument in her hold and found the right pitch with minimal effort.

_Smile, though your heart is aching_

_Smile, even though it's breaking_

_When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by_

_If you smile through your fear and sorrow_

_Smile, and maybe tomorrow_

_You'll see the sun come shining through for you_

_Light up your face with gladness_

_Hide every trace of sadness_

_Although a tear may be ever so near_

_That's the time you must keep on trying_

_Smile, what's the use of crying_

_You'll find that life is still worthwhile_

_If you just_

_Smile..._

Mathilda never once looked at him, never faltered in her playing or showed any sign of fatigue, but continued to match him verse for verse, the rich tones of the flute coloring the elegance of Akabane's pipa as it purred its chords in time with hers. When the song had concluded, Akabane sat silently for several minutes, musing on the child's uncanny talent. The specifics of her acquisition of it was just one of many intrigues that would probably go unanswered, unless fate felt generous enough to shed some light upon the path this bizarre journey was unwinding.

Akabane wasn't expecting to discover everything, and would have been content with only an explanation for the more pressing questions – namely, the mark on her skin that was identical to the one he boasted. But it would have been interesting, he decided, to have a source for Mathilda's apparently absent background...

Knocking on the front door distracted his train of thought. Akabane glanced at the clock on the wall and was somewhat surprised to see that quite a bit of time had passed. He laid the pipa aside and rose, pausing only to give Mathilda a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back. Maguruma must be here already."

Indeed, it was he of the massive semi-truck and navigational legend who had come to call upon them. Gouzou was dressed in casual clothes, his pullover and pants that were his standard fare when on transport missions. He'd added to the ensemble with his favorite headband and a thick overcoat, and held up a plastic bag that steamed of mouth-watering delights when Akabane greeted him and bade him enter.

"I'm early, so I brought us some lunch," he explained. Tugging at the collar of his coat, he said, "Best bundle up today. Wind's got some bite to it."

"Make yourself comfortable," Akabane told him while he hung up his coat. "I have something I want you to hear."

"Oh?"

"It seems I've got plenty of interesting surprises on my hands."

Akabane returned to the living room. Mathilda still held the flute in her hands, no longer in a ready position but sideways, neatly across her lap with fingers folded carefully over it to prevent it from slipping out of her catch. Akabane was impressed by her solemn respect for the object he'd entrusted her with. If he ever did locate her family, he would be sure to compliment her parents heartily for having taught her such fine manners.

"Would you come with me, please, Mathilda-chan? Maguruma-san was kind enough to have brought us something to eat before we go out."

He held out his hand, and Mathilda, after a second's deliberation, carefully replaced the flute in its opened box on the table before accepting his guidance in queenly fashion. Akabane couldn't help but find it endearing how she acted with such dignified grace, as if she knew that there was a time and place for everything, and everything in its place – order out of chaos, which was about as un-childlike as one of her age could be. He laced his fingers with Mathilda's but picked up in his free hand the instrument that she'd just put down, and absconded to the dinner table with both items in tow.

"You remember Maguruma-san, don't you? He's the man who drove us to town yesterday."

"I know I remember you, Mathilda," Maguruma said, his craggy face warming with a smile while he unpacked the food he'd brought. "How are you, sweetheart? Keeping our pet Jackal in line, I hope?" he said, ignoring the frown of disapproval his use of Akabane's transport handle garnered.

Mathilda didn't answer him. She stood by Akabane's side, hands clasped in front and toes pointed perfectly together.

Maguruma took no offense. "Still shy, eh?" he said to Akabane.

"Listen to this. She just played the most amazing music for me, Gouzou. I was showing her the instruments Semimaru gave me, and we spent the time playing together. She has practically perfect pitch." Akabane knelt and offered the girl the flute, but she didn't lift a hand to take it from him.

He helped her fit it into her grasp, positioning the slender stick so that she could once more coax enchantment from it. But to his bewilderment, she seemed to ignore her handful, and remained standing soundlessly without so much as a flinch of acknowledgment.

Akabane tried to entreat her to perform. "Mathilda-chan. Won't you show Maguruma-san what lovely music you played for me?"

No reply, other than a slow blink of vapid gaze.

"Maybe she's tired," Maguruma offered. "No need to put on a show on my account."

Akabane frowned slightly. He attempted to gently lift the mouthpiece of the flute to Mathilda's lips, but it slipped free when she again refused the invitation. "I don't understand. She really did play for me, Gouzou. It was remarkably beautiful, one of the best displays of _shakuhachi_ technique I've seen."

"She did it on her own?"

"When I gave her free reign, yes. I don't know how or where she could have learned such skill, as young as she is."

Maguruma laid out the bowls of piping-hot takeout; he'd kept it in a protective thermal bag during the drive to the house. "Not so surprising. My sister was taking harp lessons from a theater instructor when she was six. Kids are flexible, they learn things faster than most adults do."

Akabane shook his head as he glanced up at his fellow transporter. "She was playing the opening to _Shika no Tone,_ Gouzou. That's not the easiest _honkyoku_ piece for any adult to follow, let alone perform it as well as Mathilda did." He took hold of the little girl's chin with his fingertips and gently tilted her face to his eye level. "Mathilda-chan? Please? We really would like to hear you play for us..."

Mathilda evidently disagreed with that assessment, for she persisted in silent pose. Akabane sighed in resignation and took the flute out of her limp hands.

"Hey, don't worry about it. No point in trying to get her to do something she doesn't want to," Maguruma said.

"I know, and I wouldn't have forced the issue regardless," Akabane said as he left to put the instrument back in its cradle. "But I wanted you to hear for yourself." He wondered why she had played so readily for him and then abruptly withdrawn in front of their guest. It was almost as if Mathilda's solo had been meant for no other ears but his alone. Akabane could admit that he found that idea strangely pleasing, though he wasn't sure why and he wasn't keen on examining its suggestion too closely.

"I'm the guy who doesn't use brakes, remember? Almost nothing fazes me when it comes to you," Maguruma said jovially while he dug into his food. "If you say she has talent, then I believe you."

"That's not all she has," Akabane said when he returned and helped Mathilda up to the table, before seating himself next to her. "I made a rather upsetting discovery this morning while I was giving her a bath." He frowned, lips tightening at the reminder. "I think someone is playing games with me, and I don't appreciate it very much."

Maguruma's hand froze in the act of transferring a slice of beef to his mouth. "She wasn't...hurt, was she?"

"Goodness, no, no, nothing like that! No, this is something only a certain other person would know about." Akabane set his chopsticks down and leaned over Mathilda, brushing the back of her hair away from her neck with his hand so that Maguruma could see the tattoo.

"I see." There was a brief pause. "That does throw you for a loop, doesn't it?" the other man finally said with half-raised brows. "Any idea how she could've gotten the same thing you have?"

"I have a theory," Akabane said with minor sourness. "But at this point I can't prove anything without further investigation. I'm to meet with someone later today, after I've talked with Janus. Perhaps he can find the information I'm looking for."

"Hope so, for both your sakes." Maguruma paused. "Tetsuro Sakaguri called me on the way to your place. If you're interested, there's a ten o'clock run to Tokyo Haneda tonight."

Akabane thought for a minute. Sakaguri was one of their regular clients, and his jobs seldom lacked for action. "Is it another drop-and-go, or does he have something else in mind?"

"Drop-and-go from the sounds of it, but it's thorny. We'll have to wait at the airport for at least an hour, and with all the security clearances it'll probably be another or two before we make contact with our pickup target. So I'd say your chances of aerobic exercise are looking decent, if the opposition we've been getting from his jobs is anything like past assignments."

"Not bad, I suppose. Am I to call him and confirm my acceptance?" Akabane asked. Beside him, Mathilda had stopped eating.

"Sakaguri said he'd be waiting for your call."

"Very well." Akabane rolled one of the chopsticks along his fingers. "Hmm. It will mean late hours. I don't suppose your wife would be amenable to watching Mathilda while we're out?"

"She's already got the spare bed rolled out and ready at my suggestion," Maguruma chuckled wryly. "I figured what with Janus and all you'd be spending the rest of the day roaming the wilds of downtown."

"It's something to do, at least," Akabane shrugged. "When we come back I'll pick up Mathilda and take her to my apartment. We can spend the night there and hail a cab to take us back to the house in the morning."

"I'd drive you, but I've got my shift then," Maguruma said.

"It won't be any problem," Akabane assured him, and he felt more at ease now that he was back on familiar territory. This was what he knew best, what he was good at and understood. He even let his characteristic smile surface. He was going to have some fun.

"Well, then. Shall we pack up here and be on our way? We mustn't keep Janus waiting."

--

TBC

Fic Notes:

I: The pipa is a renowned string instrument which has been around in China for at least two thousand years; it was imported into countries such as Japan, Korea and Vietnam approximately during the days of the Tang Dynasty (Tang-era poetry speaks often and fondly of pipa-music) and became very popular with the imperial courts. Modern pipas are still in use today, and bear a strong resemblance to their original ancestors who arrived from Middle Eastern areas such as ancient Persia.

To play a pipa, it is held vertically while the musician moves his or her fingers over the strings as necessary. In the days of the Tang Dynasty, large plectrums were used, with players gradually switching to using the fingernails of the right hand. Pipas used to be made with softer, twisted silk strings, but most modern pipas now employ nylon-wound steel strings which are too strong for human nails. Instead, the player may opt for false nails made of either plastic or tortoiseshell, which are affixed to the playing hand with elastic tape.

II: The shakuhachi is a type of flute known as part of the fue (Japanese for 'flute', referring to a class of instruments native to Japanese islands) family. Shakuhachi are usually made from bamboo, but can also be formed from wood or plastic, and are the most popular of the Japanese flutes. Chances are, in fact, that you've heard shakuhachi being played in many modern-day songs or movie compositions – some of the more well-known examples of shakuhachi used in modern music include Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' or the theme music from movies such as The Last Samurai (Hans Zimmer) and Memoirs of a Geisha (John Williams).

To play one, it is held in a vertical position, like a recorder, with the musician's fingers positioned over the holes as needed to produce the required notes. The name means "1.8 foot", which is a reference to its general size (though this can vary). Many Japanese fue are generally high-pitched, but the longer the shakuhachi, the lower its tuning. These aren't cheap instruments either, at least when it comes to the bamboo-made versions: players can expect to pay easily upwards of 300 – 5000 USD (US dollars) for a shakuhachi produced from bamboo, and exquisite specimens can even go as high as 10,000 USD! The price is due to the fact that bamboo-made flutes must be custom-crafted by special artisans, in order to produce the highest quality instrument. The plastic and wood versions typically run about or less than 100 USD, with the wooden ones being the slightly more expensive of the two.

Shakuhachi also have a colorful history. As early as the thirteenth century, these flutes were chiefly used by monks of the Zen Buddhism Fuke sect, to practice what was called suizen ("blowing meditation"). These monks, known as komuso ("priests of emptiness"), traveled the countryside playing their honkyoku (pieces of music composed specifically for shakuhachi) for alms and spiritual enlightenment; one famous song is said to reflect this tradition: "Hi fu mi, hachi gaeshi" ("One two three, pass the alms bowl").

Later, the shogunate dictated all travel permission within the country, so the monks who used shakuhachi as their hallmark petitioned the ruler to allow them special freedom. The shogun sometimes did, though a price was exacted for this favor: monks who played could be required to spy for the kingdom in return, and the shogun sometimes sent his own spies out disguised as monks – a practice made somewhat easier since the Fuke members wore wicker baskets over their heads to signify their detachment from the world. As a result, particularly difficult songs were invented to test whether or not a traveler was a true monk or a spy – if you could play a certain song, you would probably be okay; if you couldn't, you outed yourself as a spy and would likely be attacked by hostile parties. One of the more well-known of these difficult pieces is Shika no Tone.

The Fuke sect eventually died out around the nineteenth century, along with the abolition of the shogunate and the beginning of the Meiji Restoration, and honkyoku compositions were officially forbidden by the Meiji government for a time. Eventually, however, shakuhachi were permitted to be played only as accompanying instruments to others such as the koto and shamisen, and then later, allowed full freedom to be used in public solo pieces. Shakuhachi have traditionally been played more by men than women, but nowadays more and more women are taking up its study and play.


	7. Making calls and meeting Janus

Title: The Keeper's Watch (ch. 7)

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

- According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

- Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

The purple rose was waiting on the nightstand for him when he entered Mathilda's room, and it was not a happy plant. Several of the leaves had withered and dropped off, and the thing appeared droopier than it had the previous night, the edges of its flowers darkening with decay and curling back upon themselves. Akabane pressed a finger into the soil. It was dry but not terribly so. Still, he brought it a cup of water from the bathroom, thinking that once he got back tomorrow morning he would set aside some time to give it a good pruning and fertilization to perk it up. He spared it little further thought while he gathered the items for an overnight bag for himself and Mathilda.

Despite his earlier admonition that they be punctual, Akabane wasn't worried about keeping time. One of the cardinal rules of any business meeting was that if you were important enough, they would wait for you, so long as you weren't horribly overdue – and even then they would still be reluctant to abandon the meeting. Those who did business with him were well aware of his tendency towards fashionably late entrances, much though it might irritate some of them. They tolerated it simply because they had little choice, and it always amused Akabane whenever those people tried to take him to task for it. As if anyone could ever compel Doctor Jackal to heel.

The drive to the city was relatively without hassle, as most of the heavy rush traffic had already dispersed. Along the way Akabane placed a call to Tetsuro Sakaguri to confirm acceptance of a delivery run to the Haneda airport. They arrived at the Magurumas' house an hour before Akabane was due to meet with his contact. Suzume Maguruma, a petite and somewhat buxom woman with perpetual sunshine for a smile, was there to welcome them inside.

"Come in, come in, before this cold turns you all into icicles! So this is the little cutie-pie I've heard about! Hello there, Mathilda-chan!" Suzume's lighthearted disposition seldom failed to cheer anyone she met, but she was not yet aware of the little girl's ironclad resistance to socialization. Mathilda, in her new winter coat and black hat, granted her the same response with which she held the rest of the world in regard: utter indifference.

Suzume, like her husband, bore no ill will towards the slight. Having two children of her own she was well accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of parenting. "Oh, isn't that precious, Gouzou? She's shy. Poor little thing." She favored Akabane with a semi-stern glare. They knew each other well enough to be on friendly terms; it was Akabane who had originally encouraged Maguruma to pursue her romantic interest when Gouzou, in the early days of their association, had once expressed attraction to a pretty waitress he'd met. Suzume had since worked her way up to becoming part owner of a popular restaurant, and divided her time between managing it and her rough-and-tumble brood of little Magurumas. Gouzou was utterly devoted to her and vice versa.

"Now, Akabane-san, you haven't been reading her bedtime stories from any of those dreadful medical journals Gouzou says you keep, have you?" she affectionately chided as she led them into the living room after they'd hung up their outdoor garments. "Why, the descriptions of some of those diseases sound fit for a horror movie!"

"Most certainly not, Suzume-san, I assure you," Akabane chuckled. He intended to purchase some books for Mathilda at his earliest convenience, but in the meantime he'd chosen a few short volumes from his own library, which he'd made sure to pack with the overnight bag he'd loaded for her. "Mathilda-chan is a very special little girl, and though it might seem that she is a delicate flower unaware of the world around her she's quite observant and has a will of steel, I can promise you that."

"Well, it certainly is kind of you to take the little one in while you search for her family," Suzume said as she offered everyone refreshments. "Poor baby! The holidays are coming and I can't think of a sorrier situation to be in, lost so far away from home."

"I'm sure we'll be able to find her parents before then," Akabane said. "My sources have an excellent reputation for tracking information."

"For a fee, I'm sure," Maguruma snorted, helping himself to some crackers and cheese.

"If you are speaking of Midou-kun - "

"Actually I wasn't, but since you brought him up, are you going to tap him?" Maguruma wiggled bushy brows at Akabane. "He's a wild card but he's smart, that one, and he might have access to resources you hadn't considered."

Akabane frowned. He'd tap Ban Midou all right, but not the way Maguruma was thinking of. Still, his associate had a point about Jackal's lover and sometime archrival possessing an uncanny hunting ability. But Akabane was reluctant to turn to this avenue because he knew he'd get raked over the coals, one way or the other, and he wasn't looking forward to that. The prospect of a fight between them might have been enough to get him to reconsider, but Midou had a knack for coasting through danger unscathed, and was more inclined to avoid such a duel if he could – mainly because hospital bills for his partner's occasional accidents ate up whatever money the Get Backers could manage to hang on to.

In exchange for his cooperation, Ban would almost certainly demand information from Akabane, information that he wasn't prepared to offer or could give at all, and he, much like Jackal, had no qualms about walking away from assignments he found displeasing or inconvenient. It was one of his many traits that Akabane both greatly admired and disliked.

"It depends on what I learn today," Akabane finally said in answer to Maguruma's question. "You wouldn't want me to get sidetracked with other jaunts, would you?" Everyone who was anyone knew all about the bad blood between the Get Backers and Doctor Jackal.

"Good point." Maguruma chuckled. "No pun intended."

Akabane merely smiled vague amusement and turned the topic neatly to the care of his young charge. "Everything Mathilda will need is in that bag," he said to Suzume, nodding at the duffel that had been placed discreetly aside until such time as its contents would be needed. "It would probably be best if you put her down when you send your children to bed. I've been trying to keep her on an even schedule as much as possible."

"Not a problem," Suzume agreed. "The kids have school tomorrow so they know not to fool with me when I say it's lights-out."

"Mathilda's very well-behaved, I assure you, Suzume-san. You shouldn't have any trouble at all with her." Akabane smiled, glancing at the little girl who sat at his side, quiet yet sharply observant, even though her unfocused gaze might have told otherwise. "I do appreciate your help with this matter."

"Oh, that's all right, Akabane-san. Besides, Gouzou tells me that he'll be sure to collect on this favor," she laughed.

Akabane chuckled. "I'm sure he will," he murmured, casting a wry look at his fellow transporter. He reached inside his vest and pulled out a gold pocketwatch; it had been a past Christmas gift from the Magurumas. "Well. I have one more phone call I need to make. After that, I'd best be going, if I'm to make my appointments for today." As he rose he smiled at Gouzou. "Shall I give Janus your regards?"

"Hell no," Maguruma muttered. "I'd just as soon as she not remember I exist, frankly."

"Gouzou, little ears, remember," Suzume scolded with a gesture towards Mathilda. "Would you like us to see you out, Akabane-san?"

"That's quite all right, Suzume-san." He nodded towards Maguruma. "I should be back no later than six, so we'll have time to eat dinner before we do the Haneda run."

"Might be better to just eat on the fly," Gouzou said. "Janus'll take up two hours easy, plus if you're going to go wandering you might have a good hike ahead of you. Give me a buzz when you're ready and I can come pick you up."

"All right."

Akabane left the room after bidding everyone goodbye. In the vestibule he withdrew his phone and dialed a number that never failed to make him smile, if only because this connection meant a special kind of pleasure.

A gruff voice on the other end warmed his insides when the owner of said number answered. "What the fuck do you want."

The benefits of caller ID, Akabane thought with a silent chuckle. "You're lucky that I'm so forgiving of your profanity."

"Heh. You like it when I talk dirty to you," Ban Midou grunted. He sounded not quite into his cups of coffee yet; it must be a slow day in the world of retrieval service.

Akabane lowered his voice to a velvety murmur. "I like it even better when you talk bloody to me."

"Forget it. My fight quota's booked solid for the month." There was a gust of air directed close to the receiver. Seldom was Ban seen without his favorite cigarettes.

"Such a shame. I've missed you," Akabane purred. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't want to play with me."

"Damn right I don't miss you. I could get used to these easy jobs real fast, trust me."

"That's why you need me, Midou-kun. You need that stimulation, that excitement, that challenge. In order to be the best at what he does, a good retriever has to constantly review and improve upon his performance. I don't think you realize what a boon we transporters are to you and to Ginji-kun in that respect. You wouldn't want to become stale and boring, would you?"

Ban's laugh was nearly as sharp as one of Akabane's knives. "You couldn't bore me with a butcher knife if you tried. So what, you want a gold star sticker for your efforts? I'm not in the habit of rewarding people who try to pull a timber act and cut me down," he grumbled. "You want slavish appreciation, buy a puppy."

"I'm rather picky about who drools on my furniture and tears up my clothes. If I'm going to be stuck cleaning up a mess it will be because you assist me in creating one of my choosing," Akabane chuckled. "Now, are you going to join me tomorrow evening so that I'm not left to start trouble by my lonesome self, or must I come to the Honky Tonk and call down Wan-san's wrath upon you by instigating a scene?"

There was a brief pause. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, lover." Akabane smirked, knowing well which of them was the one with the endless mountain of debt owed to the shopkeeper in question, and therefore much less likely to be excused from any repercussions stemming from post-fight damage.

An even longer pause ensued while Ban debated on calling Akabane's bluff. Both of them knew and played this game to its hilt, being the consummate professionals that they were. Ban Midou was one of the very few people who could thrill Akabane to his core, and Akabane liked to think that he gave the other man something just as important in return. Truly, they were made for each other, and no one else would ever be permitted to lay treacherous hands upon the endlessly fascinating man that Akabane called sometime companion and often rival. Middleman aside, the Get Backer was his foremost prized possession alone. Akabane simply wouldn't have it any other way.

"All right, fine, okay, you win, I'll come over," Ban hiss-sighed into the phone. "Be prepared to get your ass smacked around though. Ginji's trying to get me to quit smoking again and lately I have a shorter fuse than one of computer boy's bombs, got it?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less of you, dearest," Akabane said, smiling. "And you should listen to Ginji-kun. Smoking's not good for you and I ought to know."

"Stuff the lecture," Ban shot back. "There's a time and a place for you to play doctor on me, and it ain't this one. I gotta go. See you tomorrow night."

"I'll see you then," Akabane replied, amused by his lover's prickliness. "Goodbye."

"Bye."

Pondering how on earth Ban's sweetly innocent partner had managed to coerce him into even thinking of giving up those foul cancer-canes, Akabane went to the nearby closet and collected his coat and hat. Once attired for the weather, he began to step out the front door when a firm tug on the back of his coat stopped him. Thinking that he'd caught the tail of it in the door hinge – it had happened before, much to his chagrin – he turned and reached to unhook it, and paused when he saw what had really latched onto his coat.

Mathilda was standing planted like a rock, both hands fisted tightly around a clump of black coattail. She wasn't pulling on it, only holding it in a motionless pose. Nevertheless, her resistance had been enough to halt him in his tracks. Akabane frowned.

"Mathilda-chan, please let go of my coat. I have to go away on business."

She didn't comply, but she did level a distinctly accusing gaze at him.

"Mathilda-chan. You needn't worry about the Magurumas. They're very good people, I assure you. They'll take excellent care of you. Now please let me go."

Mathilda's expression never changed but the answer in her eyes was plain: _No._

Akabane resisted the urge to sigh impatiently. He knelt and took her fists in his hands, carefully worked at prying her fingers from the fabric. But no sooner had he freed one little hand and begun on the other than the first hand immediately seized another part of the coat, every bit as tenacious as before.

Akabane didn't know whether to hiss in annoyance or smile with amusement. Stubbornness could be such an interesting quality. He reminded himself that he was dealing with a vulnerable child, not an obstinate opponent. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his composure. He opened his eyes and smiled at the little girl.

"Mathilda-chan. I have to go to work now. This is how I make my living. I know you don't want me to go, but the fact is that there is nothing you can do about it. I know you have better manners than this. It would please me greatly if you would release me and stay here tonight with the Magurumas. I will come back for you, you know. I'm not going to abandon you the way that whoever is supposed to look after you did. I give you my word on that. Promises are very important, Mathilda-chan, and I always keep mine. Always." He lifted a hand and cupped the side of her face in it; even through the glove material he could feel the warmth of her skin. "Will you be a good girl for me, please, and let go now?"

Mathilda's focus continued to pierce him. She was not pleased, nor was she placated one bit by his vow to return and collect her. But she did – slowly, ever so slowly – uncurl her fingers from the folds of his coat and withdraw her grip.

"Thank you," Akabane said.

She was no longer looking at him. Her stare had faded back into implacable ether. Only a close eye would have realized that it was the total absence of any awareness, not petulance at being denied.

"You'll have fun here," Akabane said, rising. "Suzume-san and her children are very entertaining company. I'll see you later tonight when I return."

Mathilda stood silent, arms at her sides, face devoid of any response. She didn't try to grab his coat again as he patted her on the head and swept out the door in a flurry of black fabric. The wind was picking up outside.

Akabane resisted the urge to look back.

--

Janus was not her real name. Almost no one in the underworld used their given names, unless one happened to be a figure of such notorious repute that secrecy wasn't necessary. Akabane was one of the elite few who could share this rank. Janus chose not to, for whatever reasons of her own. She liked her privacy, she'd said.

She lived in the penthouse suite of a high-rise that was known for playing home to a multitude of wealthy patrons, some legitimate, others not so. Power was the name of the game here in this section of town, and Janus was queen of the mountain – a fact which she made sure no one revolving in her orbit ever forgot.

Akabane breezed through the security guards with nary a whisper. They understood that he was a regular guest of one of the dwellers here, and so paid him little heed when he entered and took the elevator up to Janus's suite after signing in at the reception desk.

The elevator ferried him to the topmost floor, where he stepped into an enclave upon exiting his ride. Ahead was a large red door. He approached it and knocked, waiting for leave to come inside. His answer was quick in forthcoming.

A woman easily over six feet tall with hard yellow eyes greeted him at the door's sharp opening and brusquely bade him follow her. Her black hair was even longer than his own, and it resembled the mane of a lioness goddess whose chiseled idol he'd once viewed at a museum. Indeed, if said goddess had ever taken a human form, it might look like that belonging to his escort. She even possessed a fearsome set of claws: her fingernails, painted dark purplish red to match her lips, were long and tipped at the ends with diamond studs deliberately cut and shaped for the express purpose of damaging an opponent's skin in a fight. Her muscles were cleanly defined beneath the black pantsuit and red leather jacket she was wearing, and her spiked black boots – the toes of which carried concealed knives that could be ejected without warning at an enemy – clacked purposefully along the tiled floor. She carried herself with an unmistakable authority and wouldn't have hesitated for a second to mow down anyone who got in her path. Akabane wondered what fury it must be like to face her in battle.

Not that either of them would entertain such a notion. They respected each other too much to risk their professional relationship.

Even so, Akabane couldn't deny that the temptation existed...

The woman made the basic polite inquiries to his health, inasmuch as she could tolerate having to voice them. Small talk was not her fancy; swiftness and efficiency were her style. Then she snapped her fingers and issued a blunt command. "Get naked, Kuroudo."

He chuckled knowingly. "That's not a very nice request."

Janus grinned, the expression resembling a she-wolf's hunger. "Get naked, please, Kuroudo?"

"That's more like it," he laughed softly. She had a bold sense of humor that he could appreciate in spite of her roughness; casual flirtation suited him just as well, but he often felt bored by the lack of spark in the cloying manner most women and some men used.

She led him into her bedroom, where they were promptly greeted by multiples of the two of them. Akabane didn't care for the mirrors, and would have said as much except that he had no wish to offend his hostess. Mirrors reminded him of people he wasn't terribly fond of. He tolerated it simply because he had little choice in the matter; besides, one person's distaste was another's kink, and who was he to argue someone else's choice of pleasures?

Janus caught him looking at one of the panels, and cackled. "Cost me a pretty yen to have 'em installed, but it's been worth it. It's like having your own private orgy."

He never went to bed with a client. Messier that way, and he preferred to keep his dealings simple. Janus was special. She was a regular client, and he owed her for all the times she'd come through for him concerning past jobs. It was part of the arrangement they shared.

What she did exactly for a living she'd never told, and he hadn't asked. However she earned her daily bread, she made quite a bit of it and in the process had access to information most citizens and even some underworld agents wouldn't have been able to gain. Consequently she often recruited Akabane for assignments that had a high likelihood of turning bloody, knowing well of his predilections for a challenge.

He dutifully undressed, draping his clothes neatly across the back of a chair. Janus watched him like a hawk, unabashedly licking her lips while he shucked off his trousers and briefs.

"You been fucking your retriever boyfriend lately? Or maybe that biker with the magic potions finally decided to jump your skinny ass?"

"Our common interests are purely professional," he answered, not knowing whether this was true in reality on the other person's part. It was an option he could admit that he'd pondered out of sheer curiosity, but it wasn't likely to happen, at least not any time soon. He had other personal rules concerning interactions among fellow agents. Himiko, too, was special in her own way.

Janus eyed him. "That's what they all say, honey. I've seen the way she checks you out when she thinks nobody's looking. She'd like to, believe you me." She flicked a switch on the wall and subtle lighting illuminated the chamber. "You ever tell her I loved the job she pulled for me with the gems?"

"Indeed. Himiko-san was most pleased by your compliment."

Akabane tactfully failed to mention that Himiko had also later told him in no uncertain terms what she'd thought of Janus after meeting the other woman. "I don't trust her," Lady Poison had growled with fire in her eye. "She's sneaky about keeping pertinent information to herself. Reminds me way too much of you, Jackal. Only a lot less polite and charming about it."

He'd found that highly amusing, and said so. Himiko's only reply was an irritable huff, and from then on she'd tried to avoid taking any jobs from Janus unless she absolutely had to.

"You ought to take her out on a date sometime, a real one. Much as I admit that the retriever's quite a piece of eye candy, he's got the personality of a rattlesnake on PMS. At least Poison knows when to hold her temper and when to let it loose. Honestly, Kuroudo, I don't get people who can't make up their minds."

"I don't believe in limiting one's avenues for pleasure," he replied, reclining nude on the chaise lounge nearby as she directed him, on his side with his head propped on one hand.

Her laugh was husky as she set up her easel and equipment. "Neither do I." She studied his form with a critical eye. "A little to the left, there. Yeah. Perfect."

She brought over an apple, which he held in front of his groin the way she instructed. He lay patiently, permitting her to adjust his pose as she saw fit. "What made you decide to take up artwork?" he asked, to pass the time.

Janus combed a few strands of his hair into his face the way she wanted. "Needed a new hobby. Business only goes so far with entertainment, don'tcha know." She lightly tapped the tip of his nose with one diamond-studded fingernail. "Don't move."

"This is true," he replied as she returned to the easel and picked up her pencil. "Why do you think I worked so hard to find an employment niche that was halfway interesting?"

"Not all of us are as fortunate as you," Janus said. She worked steadily, her hand moving the pencil over the paper as lightly and smoothly as a breeze through autumn leaves. From time to time she would pause, take a look at Akabane, and continue sketching. "And with the way things with this Middleman seem to be going, if I were you, I'd consider early retirement."

Akabane raised a brow. "You do realize that only draws my interest all the more."

Janus frowned. "I'm balls-on serious, Kuroudo. This killer's chopped up transporters like a side of rare beef, and for what? Attention whores are a yen a dozen. I can appreciate skill as much as the next person, but a good fight is only worth so much before it becomes reckless. I like you. You're professional, you're smart, you're easy on the eyes, and you're one of the last true gentlemen in the world. I'd hate to have to go looking for a new agent because you were rude enough to get yourself killed by a maniac."

He smiled and chuckled quietly. "Much as I appreciate your concern, Janus-san, I assure you I have no intention of doing so."

"Think you're that good, eh?"

"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" Akabane replied, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Masochist," she snorted.

He shrugged. "I've been called worse."

"Well, you can't say you weren't warned, sweetie."

The sketching took about an hour, during which they discussed more of the serial killing spree that was plaguing the _hakobiya_ community. Janus saw to it that he was kept continually comfortable despite his stationary pose. She brought him water when he requested it, even going so far as to offer him some fresh fruit as a snack. "Never let it be said that I don't take good care of the pets in my harem."

Akabane smiled, completely at ease with her banter. "Is that all I am to you, Janus-san? An entertaining toy?"

"A _very_ entertaining toy. Don't be modest," she chuckled.

"That depends on what you consider modesty," he rejoined.

She laughed, running her reptilian-gold eyes over his obvious lack of such. He'd oft-wondered if she wore specially-colored contacts, or if the color was real, but wasn't about to broach the rudeness of asking.

"True, that." She frowned suddenly. "Are you cold?"

"A little, but it's nothing I can't deal with."

"Bullshit. You're getting goosebumps," she pointed out, flicking her nails at the skin of his arm. "Get dressed. I've got enough for today, anyway."

While he put his clothes back on Janus went to her easel and turned it around to show Akabane the semi-finished product. She'd taken up drawing several months ago and had needed a model for the pieces she wanted to make; Akabane had appeared at a convenient time. He occasionally posed for her, and she in turn sought out the most appealing assignments and paved the way for his recruitment. It was a satisfactory arrangement to both of them.

"Very nice," he admitted as he studied the graceful lines of his own face rendered in black and white. She'd done an excellent job of capturing the seductive temptation she wanted to convey.

"It's all in the model, honey. Why do you think I pick the best material to work with?"

"Not all of it," he said. "You have genuine talent. What do you do with them once they're completed?"

"Private exhibition. A few very select overseas clients I know who receive exclusive invitations. If they like, sometimes they buy. But the best ones I keep for myself. I was originally going to go with this quaint little gallery downtown, but the person running the joint thinks art needs to 'breathe' in the public eye, or some corny shit like that. Nice gal, that Clayman, but a little loopy, know what I mean? I prefer the people working for me to have their heads screwed on a little straighter." She caught the minute frown creasing his brows as he looked at the portrait. "Don't worry. I made you an anonymous model so you won't have to wonder whether or not a bunch of horndogs are going to beat down your door and ravish your gorgeous bod."

Akabane sniffed amusement. "I don't care about that. I was only wondering who overseas would bother enough to want to purchase a portrait of me. Surely there are at least a few names you've run across who are familiar with the transport agent line."

"You'd be surprised, babe. I've got one guy who says he'll hook me up with my own damn gold mine if I draw him a picture of a penguin in a top hat and tropical shirt." She shook her head. "Never can account for some people's taste, can you?"

"So why don't you take him up on the offer? It's certainly an easy payoff."

Janus scowled. "Please. I look for class. Ass comes in cheap supply. Doesn't mean a thing unless you've got class to back it up."

Akabane bowed. "I am flattered by your esteem, in that case."

"Speaking of backing it up," Janus said while she went to her dresser and picked up a gold-handled file, which she ran along the edges of her razor-nails, "what were you doing in Fujita's office yesterday? Don't tell me the biggest baddest transporter in the biz is getting cold feet and needs police protection to hold his gloved hand from now on."

Akabane wasn't surprised by her mention of the detective whose dual function provided transporters with invaluable contacts. Janus had a talent for picking up on even the most obscure of news; it was partly how she'd made herself into such a successful businesswoman. "I thought you were warning me to avoid the Middleman," he replied sweetly.

Janus stopped in her sharpening and flicked rigid yellow eyes at him. "I am," she said without a trace of humor.

"And I appreciate your concern," Akabane told her. "However, as you well know - "

" - the challenge is what whets your appetite," she finished impatiently, winging the file neatly across the room and into the wall, point-first. "For your sake, Kuroudo, I hope you aren't biting off more than you can gobble. Gluttony isn't pretty."

Akabane shrugged. "That is what I am curious to see."

Janus shook her head. "Masochist," she repeated. "And Fujita?"

"Pawns seldom share our tastes in excitement," Akabane said. "I had need of his services, so I felt like paying him an impromptu visit. It seems I've acquired, as you mentioned earlier, a fan following of sorts." He briefly summarized the situation with Mathilda for her benefit. "Aside from having to juggle my engagements around a bit, really, it hasn't been as much trouble as I thought it would. She's a very keen and well-behaved child, exactly the sort you'd think would have a family desperate to find her."

"Babysitting? That's not like you, Kuroudo," Janus laughed, a cold sharp bark that could have frozen the innards of any man alive.

"Tell me about it. But it's not unpleasant," Akabane mused, wondering to himself why this was so. "It's something different, anyway."

"Bah. When you start making little scalpel-mobiles to hang over as-yet-nonexistent cribs, that's when you know it'll be time for you to hang up your hat." Janus waved a hand in disgust. "If I want to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around my house I'll buy a cat and put tap-dancing shoes on it. The gods know I'd rather listen to that than one of Fujita's overblown sermons."

"Now, now. He may be an easily twisted man, but he's not a bad one," Akabane soothed. "He's rather quite useful, if one knows the proper techniques to apply in dealing with one such as him. If one must suffer the presence of bureaucracy, one ought to at least find ways to make it work in one's favor, no?"

"Baby, I only know one technique and it works wonders." Grinning, Janus reached into a side of her jacket and pulled out a gleaming silver pistol. "Last thing I need is some cheap detective with a developing conscience sniffing around my tree because the wind blew him a stiff one. Face it, Kuroudo, we gotta protect ourselves in this bad 'ol underworld we deal in. There's oodles of folks out there who'd die to have a crack at me with the right information. You, too."

"And this should worry either of us because...?" Akabane smirked knowingly. Anyone coming at Janus with felonious intent would get a final reminder of the foolishness of doing so plowed straight between their eyes; ditto for those attacking Doctor Jackal. "Besides, in spite of your claim that you're stingy with personal information, you obviously considered me trustworthy enough to provide me with some of that very same information on the Takahide job we completed over the summer in Nagasaki."

"That's different. We play for the same team, and you're my all-star slugger. Giving you those goodies was literally the only way you could've pulled that one off." Janus patted his cheek. "Besides, I know you're not stupid enough to cross me, not after I've gone to all the trouble of making sure you wind up in enough bloody fun up to your eyeballs. Right, sweetie?" she grinned as she raked her nails none too gently along the side of his neck. Akabane was vaguely amused by her boldness.

"You needn't worry about Fujita, Janus-san. He'll have his hands too full with my business to concern himself with any dealings of yours, I assure you."

Janus nodded her swift approval. "That's what I wanna hear. Trust is trust only as long as it's trust, you know?"

"Of course." Well did they both understand the law of the underground; which is to say there _was_ no law except that of kings' rule, and even that was precarious at best. One was only as good as one's word.

The visit wrapped up with a tentative scheduling for the next modeling date. Janus tapped her nails on the brim of Akabane's hat with a flash of yellowed-eye fang and said, "Don't be a stranger, honey," when she escorted him to the door.

Akabane smiled farewell, and left next to see a former boy king who ruled an empire that no one, criminal or otherwise, wanted to claim.

--

TBC


	8. Denial not just a river in Egypt

It's been awhile since my last update, yes? I blame the holidays, heh. I'd like to thank very much those of you who have commented on this fic. I really enjoy hearing from you and I'm glad you're enjoying the story! :)

Title: The Keeper's Watch (ch. 8)

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

The books listed by name that Maguruma's toting in this chapter are real editions; I actually own a copy of Personality Plus.

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

Makubex inspired more loyalty these days. With the largely successful transformation of Lower Town into a semi-peaceful village, fewer misdeeds were being reported amongst the dwellers of this block, and Akabane faced no opposition more intimidating than the stray dog passing by with growled warning in defense of his leftover dinner pickings. Ordinarily a trip here, lacking in the bloody glamour for which it had become notorious, would have disappointed him. But Akabane's focus was fixed firmly on a bigger prize: the coveted Middleman before whom no other transporter had battled successfully.

He'd reviewed the previous notes from Janus concerning the Middleman's kills and had had time to do some thinking. Now was the moment where he set his own course into action, and for this he would need Makubex's gift for strategy. He also planned to ask the boy to do a more in-depth search for all information regarding Mathilda – not the least of which involved her carrying the same uncanny mark as he did.

The corridors and rooms here, by virtue of the mystical half-virtual half-real realm which governed their existences, changed on a near-daily basis. Even so, Akabane was able to find his way into the subterranean levels from previous memory's experience, and eventually wound up on the outer edges of Makubex's inner sanctum.

He was promptly greeted by a pair of sentries, one of whom he recognized as a fellow healer whose chief loyalties belonged to another Makubex had once called kin. Kakei Juubei was polite but distant, and said little once Akabane explained the reason for his appearance, but escorted him inside the great halls and through, into the massive chamber that Makubex had designated his base of operations.

A subtle electrical hum that Akabane had detected from as far away as aboveground had increased in volume the closer he'd come to this place. Now inside the heart of the network, the vibrations were almost unbearable, or would have been had Makubex not throttled down his mother system's power output. He'd lived here so long that the noise had turned white for him, an indistinguishable mass of whispers that came as naturally to him as the breath which he drew from his own database.

The boy was not alone. His second-in-command, a young woman somewhat older than Makubex, sat in one corner industriously typing away at a program on one of the monitors. She glanced up briefly when she noticed Akabane entering the room, but other than that paid him no heed as she returned to her work, evidently deciding that all was as it should be.

Makubex was planted firmly in front of the main screen, an enormous spread of pixels overhead that denoted a camera's view of coding. He didn't get up, but he did have enough courtesy to turn around and greet his guest. "Welcome, Doctor Jackal. To what do I owe the pleasure of this trip?"

This was said with such straight-faced solemnity that Akabane resisted the urge to jest, even if only in gentle rebuke. Sometimes the boy took life far more seriously than one of his age ought to. "I appreciate your accommodating me on such short notice, Makubex-kun. I have a few minor requests to make of you, if you would be so kind as to aid me."

"Shoot," the boy said.

"First of all, you have, I assume, heard of the news making the rounds about a serial murderer plaguing the _hakobiya_?" It would have been hard not to – at least one of the murders had taken place just streets away from the outer boundaries of Mugenjou. When Makubex nodded, Akabane continued. "It is my intention to draw this person out in order to learn of his extraordinary talents. To do so I plan to lay a trap, and I will require your maps to plot an appropriate attack."

"I can do that," Makubex agreed. "But I don't understand why you want to find this guy. You're in no hurry to die, no matter what you say about wanting fun and games," he finished with his typical bluntness.

"No one wants to die, Makubex-kun," Akabane told him with a quiet chuckle. "But death comes to us all anyway. I merely nudge fate along in the direction I wish it to go and it does the rest."

The boy made an incomprehensible snort. "Are you still wrapped up in your mythologies?"

Akabane smiled. "There's always room for broad interpretation. After all, I'm not the one who once attempted to broker a losing deal with inhospitable sources."

"Touche', Doctor," Makubex announced matter-of-factly. To the young woman working in the corner, he said, "What do you think, Sakura? Doctor Jackal was strong enough to face Raitei, and Ban Midou of the Evil Eye. He may not have beaten them, but he didn't get killed either. Can Kuroudo Akabane be the one to win against this Middleman?"

"I suppose it depends on the calculations," Sakura answered diplomatically, not taking her eyes off her screen.

"Exactly," Makubex said, turning back to Akabane. "Everything is calculation, measurements. Set one reaper to beat another, a life for a life. This should be interesting." He paused as he gave Akabane a wary look. "But I still think you're crazy for wanting to get involved," he tacked on as an afterthought.

"I'm well aware of the general consensus concerning my endeavors, thank you," Akabane replied wryly. "Shall we?"

Makubex turned to his motherboard with a shrug. He flicked his fingers over a few keys and the screen he was previously attending to vanished. In its wake appeared a giant blue rectangle containing map coordinates. "How broad a scope do you want?"

"To city limits."

Makubex obligingly issued commands. Onscreen, the map expanded to include all of the downtown districts and outlying suburbs, as far as the eye could stretch.

"I need you to mark the locations I give you. Ready?" Akabane withdrew a slip of paper from his coat's breast pocket and began to read off addresses. "Number one starts with the Ginza district."

Makubex typed in the information he was given and a bright red dot with a number beneath it appeared onscreen. This was where Touzen Masafumi, the driver that Maguruma had once known, perished – the first victim at the start of the Middleman's violent spree. Masafumi thought he had been contracted to transport a container of military-grade weapons poison; what he didn't know was that his cargo had been replaced with a faulty tank that had been improperly secured, and the Middleman had locked him in a room with it before triggering a remote that released the toxic substance into the air. Masafumi had died choking on his own guts as he'd vomited them up.

Akabane peered at his notes. "Second. Address begins in the Shibuya ward." He read Makubex the number and street name.

Victim number two was Maki Houjou, aka Masher Maki on account of his fondness for pounding the snot out of his enemies. In a grotesquely appropriate end to his illustrious career, Maki had been mashed flat from head to toe at a construction site by a wood-press machine that the Middleman had stuffed him into. Word had it that the coroners had had to literally peel away what was left of him to put into their black bags.

The third victim had had it a little easier but no less brutally. In a move that would have done a famous American filmmaker proud, the Middleman had tossed Shuichi Itosawa into a tank of sharks at the city aquarium – after, of course, making sure that the blood from Shuichi's favorite cut of steak was still fresh on his bib. Fortunately for him, Shuichi's inability to swim had doomed him long before the sharks took any interest in their free dinner. He had been known as Barracuda for his no-holds-barred style of haggling over payment with clients, so perhaps it was fitting that one who had long been accustomed to taking a bite out of others finally became a meal himself.

Victims four and five weren't as lucky in their dishonor. The Wild Kattz, a brother and sister team, were dispatched within days of each other after taking on an assignment in the Chiyoda district. Hideo Anida had been known for his famous 'blowtorch' technique, but he'd never had a chance to employ it when the Middleman turned his own attack against him. Driven mad by the agony of a slow roasting, Hideo died hours later. His sister Fumiko had vowed revenge, but her plans too were wrecked when a week later the Middleman caught her on a delivery run to Osaka. Much like her brother's, her funeral had, out of necessity, been a closed casket. Fumiko Anida had been a pretty woman while alive, and with a competent mortician's applications might have held a passing acceptance when dead...but for the acid bath the Middleman had scoured her with.

"Sixth site. Shinjuku mob address." That, of course, had been Dragon Saito, the Komodo lizard warrior Maguruma and Akabane had discussed earlier.

"Is that all of them?" Makubex scaled down the screen some so that the death plots could be viewed more accurately.

"For now," Akabane replied evenly as he studied the ring of fire above. "What's that large patch at the center?"

"That's us. Mugenjou."

"Bull's-eye," Akabane murmured, more to himself than Makubex. Strange indeed was the hand of fate.

"You want I should print you a copy of this?" Makubex asked, his finger hovering over the enter key.

"A moment, please. Mark this next address up but don't list it as deceased." Akabane gave the boy one more listing, which shortly thereafter appeared onscreen as a green dot. Plot number seven would belong to one Spydra Kintaro, if and when the Middleman decided to make a surprise run on him. Akabane intended to use this transporter as bait, and ambush the Middleman when he came to collect his due.

"Now what?" Makubex asked.

"Print it."

Fingers clicked against the keyboard, and seconds later the hum of a printer in action announced the finished product. Sakura, from her workstation, picked it up and glanced at it to be sure it was the correct paper, then got up and brought it to Akabane.

"Thank you," he told them as he folded the paper carefully and slipped it into the breast pocket of his coat. "This will come in very helpful, I'm sure."

Makubex chewed on one end of his shaded glasses. "You said there was something else?"

"Ah, yes." Akabane took out his phone and scrolled to the stored photos on its camera function. "How complete is your database on Babylon City?"

"That depends. It'll never really be 'complete,' Akabane-san. You know as well as I do that the place is always changing, always shifting its stocks around. It's been harder to get a handle on them ever since I busted their banks the first time," Makubex said, not without an evident trace of pride in his code-cracking abilities. "They have new safeguards now. But if you're looking for something specific, odds are I have a copy of it somewhere."

"Good." Akabane offered his phone to Makubex. "Put that image into your files and scan for a match. I want to know if there have been any updates to the records containing its mention."

Makubex studied the swirling lashes of the black tattoo. He screwed up his face in thought, but went to his keyboard again. "See what I can do," he grunted.

He uploaded the image to his hard drive's cache, then instructed the mainframe to run a search for its likeness in the stored files. This took longer than expected, since his system was set up to run periodic self-scans as a precaution against enemy attack, and these functions took up extra memory. One such had begun implementing itself. However, even with its attention divided, Makubex's mother system was no slouch in the speed department, and after several minutes the computers returned a unified answer.

"Nothing," Makubex said, curiosity warring with disappointment in his voice as he returned Akabane's phone. "Only files that match that visual are the ones with your label, and that stuff's nothing we don't already know."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah. I can try a hookup to the City, but they'll probably firewall me before I get past the first security coding." Makubex stretched his arms. "I like to poke them late at night. There's usually less guards on standby then."

"Never mind Babylon," Akabane said, frowning. Anything on Mathilda had probably been erased, if no listing of her twin mark was available. Disturbing, that. "I want you to comb your database again. Run a search for missing female children, approximately five or six years of age, dark brown hair and brown eyes. Use 'Mathilda' as a key if it prompts you for names."

"Huh?"

"Professional curiosity," Akabane said when Makubex gave him a puzzled look. "Run it, please."

"Okay..." The boy shrugged and turned back to his digging. This inquiry took less time but rendered the same answer as the previous search: nothing.

"That can't be," Akabane said, more to himself than Makubex. "Someone out there has to know something." He looked at the boy. "Try outside networks. Foster agencies, orphanages, anything related."

Makubex fed his instructions into the computers with no more success than the last two attempts. The screen yielded nothing other than a flat SUBJECT NOT FOUND message.

Akabane swore softly under his breath. "You've scoured everything," he said to Makubex, not making a question of it.

"That's all I have," Makubex said with an apologetic shrug. "I have lines into the police networks too, but whatever I get from the children's agencies goes through them, so if what you're looking for had been in there it would've turned up."

"And there's no one you know of here in Mugenjou who might be looking for a lost child?"

"Haven't heard a word. Besides, people disappear here on a regular basis long before anybody even notices they're gone," Makubex said. "It used to be a lot worse in the old days." He regarded Akabane with a wary studiousness. "What's the deal?"

"The deal, Makubex-kun, is that someone has mistaken me for a babysitter instead of a transporter and left me with an unexpected guest." Akabane folded his arms across his chest, considering the options left to him. Both Makubex and Sakura were watching him with open interest now. "I had hoped the City network would at least hold some mention of her, but I suppose given their antagonism that's too much to have expected."

"I could give the mining another round," Makubex offered. "If you have time to kill - " it was impossible to tell whether he'd used that expression facetiously - "and don't mind the wait, I can try a zombie connection with their servers later tonight. But I don't know how long it would take to perform the search, and there's no guarantee that Brain Trust won't catch on and shut the Archive down."

Akabane didn't answer him right away. He stared at the blank field of screen and its fruitless results, thinking. How was it that Mathilda could just show up out of nowhere, literally right on his doorstep, and no one alive had any records of her existence? Something wasn't right here. Mathilda was no ghost, no pixel construct; she was real flesh and blood and she had to have a background somewhere.

"Very well. I have a job to attend to tonight but you may leave a voicemail if you do find something. And Makubex-kun - "

"Yeah?"

"I would appreciate it greatly if you said nothing of this to anyone." Akabane held the stare meaningfully, one brow poised slightly higher than the other.

"Of course," the boy said. "You have a reputation to protect."

His habitual solemnity robbed the words of any sarcasm they might have contained – with Makubex, no one could be entirely sure if anything he said was intended the way it could sound. Akabane had little wish to engage in useless chastisement, and said nothing. It wasn't important anyway.

Getting to the bottom of Mathilda's mystery was important. Cornering the Middleman, even more so. Akabane smoothed away his inner annoyance. One must concentrate one's focus on the things that mattered most. He would obtain that which he sought. He would not be denied. Sooner or later, everything – everyone – must bend to death's relentless scythe.

"Thank you," he told Makubex and Sakura. "I will see myself out. Do take care."

--

Tokyo Haneda at this hour was still plenty busy – it was the holiday travel season, after all. However, Akabane and Maguruma had little trouble entering, and at precisely ten o'clock pulled into the designated parking after having met briefly with their client. They wandered the corridors of the terminal until they located the point where their pickup was supposed to arrive and take delivery of the briefcase that Sakaguri had requested transported. Because the contact's flight was not yet due to arrive, they settled in the waiting area and watched the various crowds slowly disperse according to destination.

Maguruma had come prepared. He was used to making long runs. Without a word to his cohort he pulled out a somewhat worn paperback book from the sack he'd brought and started to read.

Akabane didn't fare as well, having made no such allowances. Preferring to keep watch and not lose out to idleness, he settled for surreptitiously scanning the faces in the throngs of people, entertaining himself by assessing potential opponents while looking for the one who might be their contact. "What time was the flight, again?" he said to Maguruma.

"He's supposed to land about eleven. We probably won't see him till twelve, twelve-thirty, depending on how long it takes for him to check in with his bosses and clear all the checkpoints," the big man answered. "Usually they like to keep 'em moving, but since it's the holidays traffic's been bogged up, so it takes a little longer than normal to process everybody." He patted Akabane's shoulder. "Don't worry. The opposition should be waiting for us by the time we get to dump our cargo and go. Plenty of time for you to practice your penmanship in the meantime," he joked.

"If you say so," Akabane said. He glanced at the briefcase he'd set beside his chair. "He always gives us the same item. Have you ever been tempted to take a peek inside any of Sakaguri's transports?"

Maguruma looked up from his book. "What for?"

Akabane shrugged. "No reason. I was just curious."

Bushy brows lifted beneath a white sweatband. "You know what they say about curiosity. C'mon, Jackal, what's the number one rule?"

Akabane smiled, and spoke the words together with Maguruma. "'Don't open the package.'"

"Exactly. Less I know about the crap I haul, the better, as far as I'm concerned," Gouzou snorted. "Some of us don't have the appetite for destruction that you do."

"Pity. You don't know what you're missing," Akabane playfully taunted. He hadn't been serious about poking around in Tetsuro Sakaguri's business – for one thing, he simply didn't care enough to bother. Besides, he was not the sort to nose around uninvited; that would have been unforgivably rude and he liked to think that he was above such cheapness. What else his parents had not educated him with, Akabane had learned on his own, and he was certain that his strict observance of proper conduct was a credit to both his and their names.

He was merely making idle talk to pass the time, a fact which Maguruma knew full well, but the other man still remained serious whenever discussing business. It was one of the things that Akabane liked about him, for while Gouzou was perfectly amenable to surfing the crossroads of whatever mayhem his partners engaged, he kept an unyielding vigil for his own honor, and saw to it that his partners kept theirs as well. Loyalty like that couldn't be bought for any price.

Loyalty made him think of Mathilda, and the way she'd tried to prevent him from leaving earlier today. She had cleaved unquestioningly to him from the moment she'd first set foot upon his threshold. The child's quiet insistence only confused Akabane all the more. Why should she choose him of all people? What could possibly compel her to want to seek his company when most anyone else would have been stumbling all over themselves to avoid it?

Why, now, did he suddenly feel as though he really were abandoning her?

Akabane sighed softly, a subtle stream of irritation that Maguruma chose to interpret as impatience for the promised fight. This was nonsense. He wasn't abandoning Mathilda; he was looking out for her best interest, making sure that his responsibility to her was fulfilled exactly as he'd promised. He'd given her shelter, he fed her healthy meals, provided ample clothing and bathing implements, and, eventually, he would find out to whom she belonged and return her in perfect shape to her rightful place. Could anyone have expected any more of him than that?

_She doesn't like it when I go out, _he realized, thinking back to the previous night's trip where he'd had to drug her, and the way that she'd looked at him before accepting the medicine. _But why? It's not as if she knows what I do on these jaunts, and I'm certainly not about to expose her to the truth. There may be no love lost between me and the rest of humanity, but I'm not that depraved. _

In spite of his musings, a sinister hint nagged Akabane that Mathilda _did_ know what he was up to, or had some idea of it. How that could even be possible, he wasn't sure, but he did know that underestimating her might well be a serious mistake. He comforted himself with the thought that even if the girl did understand what his job entailed, there was nothing she could do to stop him from continuing his routine. If she knew and her resistance to his absences stemmed from disapproval, well, that was too bad.

_Look at it this way, Mathilda-chan. I'm doing the world a favor, ridding the earth of pestilence just as any carrion-eater would in a natural environment. The strong pick off the weak; the weak either adapt or die, and the cycle carries on as it has done for thousands, millions of years. You'll learn all too soon, I'm afraid, what vicious beasts humans can be, and then you will understand why jackals like me exist. Perhaps you may even be thankful, though I'm sure that's too lofty an ideal to expect. I care not that I receive no accolades for my work. The process is the pleasure for me, the struggle, the hunt and the kill. Any fool can be a common murderer; what I do is reward in itself, my service as tithe for what I have gained._

All this, of course, could not be explained to a mere child not yet indoctrinated in the brutal ways of the world. Even if it could be, Akabane wouldn't have burdened any child with such terrible knowledge, and with a little shudder he realized that he especially didn't want to see Mathilda spoiled like that. Gods knew no child, least of all her, deserved such an awakening.

_For goodness' sake, I'm starting to sound ridiculous. I care about the girl, yes, but only in regards to completing my objective concerning her. That's all. It's the same as any other mission I've chosen to take on. A professional does his best no matter how unorthodox the job._

_...is that all she is to me? Another job?_

_Yes, damn it._

_But she trusted – trusts – me. I can count on one hand the number of people willing to do that, and certainly none as forthcoming with it as she was. A total stranger; why, I could have been one of those vile perverts who preys on children for all she knew! And yet she's shown no fear of me, no hesitancy, and she cooperates once I explain unfamiliar situations to her. She...actually seems to...to enjoy being with me. She has an unusual strength that I've seldom seen before, and yet, she's so fragile and vulnerable..._

_Stop it. Stop it right now. You're getting maudlin over nothing. This just goes to prove that the girl is an intolerable disruption and that you have no business trying to play human when you know perfectly well that you're meant for other avenues. Makubex will just have to try harder. Mathilda has a past and I know it's out there, and by whatever god still sees fit to witness over me, I will find where she belongs and return her. And then I can get back to doing what I do best and forget about all this childish, pathetic emotional wallowing. Honestly! How can I ever reach the strength of my desires if I continue to succumb to these bouts of foolish weakness?_

Eleven o' clock came and went, as did the next half-hour. Maguruma kept reading while Akabane chased away further thoughts of his treacherous mind. When midnight arrived they both paused, spending several minutes searching the emptying terminal for the person they were supposed to meet up with. No one appeared, so they turned their respective attentions back to what they'd been doing, but by twelve-forty-five, when there was still no sign of the contact, they began to get restless.

"The schedule didn't mention anything about a weather delay?" Akabane said.

"None that I saw on the screens," Gouzou answered. He was flicking his eyes back and forth from his book to the now mostly-quiet terminal. Only a few tired-looking employees and some scattering passerby were left. They spared the transporters no notice as they trudged by, eager to finish shift or get back home.

"This isn't like Sakaguri," Akabane complained mildly, sifting a hand through his hair. He'd taken off his hat some time ago, for it was rather warm in the waiting area. He was contemplating removing his coat as well, but he wanted to retain some image of full dress. "His information is usually on the dot." He peered over his comrade's shoulder. "'The Murder of Tutankhamen.' Is it a good mystery?" he asked, nodding towards Maguruma's book.

"Pretty decent. Real stuff, too. His ancestor Akhenaten made a royal mess of things by changing from a historically pantheistic system to a monotheistic one."

Akabane searched his memory. "Ah, yes, the heretic pharaoh. Quite a stir he caused. It was an interesting idea, but the fool had no idea what he was doing by upending an entire civilization rooted in centuries of ancient tradition."

Gouzou nodded. "Some speculate that these two fellows, a priest and a general, had had their fill of it and took him out because of that. No more relatives in that line, no more risk of it ever happening again."

"I thought that recent evidence had disproven the murder theory."

"Well, it was written before the most recent discoveries. Anyway, the author puts forward a decent case. Power plays happen all the time no matter what period of history you're looking at."

"True." Akabane leaned over and poked at Maguruma's bag, raising a brow when it toppled over with a muffled thud. "My goodness. Did you bring an entire library with you?"

"Beats sitting around bored out of my skull." Maguruma grinned at him, knowing that Akabane's patience was bordering on testy now as a result of their contact's tardiness. "Go on, help yourself if you want."

Akabane reached into the bag and pulled it upright again before picking through the contents for something suitably engaging. He held up one book and gave Maguruma a raised brow as he turned its cover over to show _Personality Plus _on its front.

"That's a good one. I can tell you anything you want to know about your birth order and family dynamics, and how those things make you who you are."

Akabane sniffed. "Psychoanalyzing, Gouzou? Please. Self-help banality doesn't suit you."

"It's not that kind of slop. It details lists of certain personality traits, and you check them off as they apply to you. Then you go through the chapters and it explains where you fall on the scales, and how those traits affect your everyday life."

"So what did you learn about yourself?" Akabane stifled a yawn and checked his pocketwatch. Six after one. Still no contact. He hated jobs that dragged out like this. Waiting was the necessary evil part of missions.

"I'm a Phlegmatic," Maguruma said. "In a family of Melancholies where drama reigns, this is a valuable asset. I can keep my cool while everyone else is losing theirs, and stabilize a rocky atmosphere."

"Congratulations," Akabane drawled. "You have officially been labeled a boring stick in the mud."

Gouzou smirked. "That's why I married a Choleric-Sanguine. Suzume balances out my temperament and we complement each other." He shut his book and stuffed it back into the bag, then leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. "Want to hear your assessment?"

"Not particularly."

"Since you didn't take the test, I can only speculate, but I'd bet you're a combination Melancholy-Choleric, with the Melancholy being only slightly stronger. You have a very emotional nature, but your Choleric side can't tolerate that, so you use rules and ritual to keep things in check. Not that it's always a bad thing, but you work with what you've got, you know?"

Akabane frowned. "And what drivel in that book claims to produce such a diagnosis?"

Maguruma shrugged. "You like structure, but only as long as it's a certain kind. You don't adjust well to surprises. You like stirring up trouble just to see what it'll do. And you hold all your cards to yourself so that nobody knows what kind of a game you're playing."

"It's more fun for me that way." Akabane gave him a sly look. "If I don't handle surprises well in a field where the unexpected is _de rigueur,_ that completely negates my career as a transporter then, doesn't it?"

Maguruma regarded him with a slight smile. "Depends on what the surprise is. You're ace at taking on anything physical. It's the emotional stuff you don't do so well with."

Akabane's frown deepened. "No one handles emotions well, Gouzou. It's simply the nature of the beast. That's why a good warrior learns to do away with them and focus only on the tactics in a battle. One can't very well achieve noteworthy results if one is too wrapped up in silly headgames."

"I'm just saying," Maguruma said, shrugging again. "That's not necessarily my judgment, it's what the book says per your individual trait ranking." He paused, and added, "Give me more detail, I can tell you about your family too."

Akabane sighed. Giving his cohort a stern look, he said, "You perform much better at motoring than you do motor-mouthing. I can assure you right now that psychology is a minefield littered with utter garbage. I can also assure you that I haven't the slightest need or desire for therapy, especially of the armchair variety. And I will state here and now that Sigmund Freud was a deluded old sot with some rather disturbing issues of his own to contend with, and I don't appreciate having his faulty measurements applied to me when it is perfectly clear that I am a healthy, well-adjusted individual capable of functioning without the interference of said psychotherapy. Is that understood?"

Maguruma laughed. "You brought it up, I didn't."

Akabane uttered another sigh, louder than before. "If it will make you feel any better, Gouzou, in spite of my current career I never once had any impulse to kill my father while I was growing up, and I certainly never experienced any sexual leanings towards my mother."

"Glad we could clear that up," Maguruma laughed again. "Wasn't what I meant, though."

"Care to explain your intentions, then?"

Gouzou's smile faded, but retained its warmth. "Let me share with you a little secret I learned when I had kids. Parenting changes you irrevocably. Sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. How it affects you depends on what kind of person you were before you went into it, and what you're expecting to get out of it. It's not something you do for fun or amusement. If you're worried about the kid putting a damper on your workout, it's better you cut your losses now before the attachment kicks in."

Akabane wasn't smiling at all now. "What are you saying? I'm not getting 'attached', as you put it. Certainly not. I have no intention of dragging this out any longer than necessary. Yes, juggling both Mathilda and my agenda does require a bit of creative manipulation, but it's not as if I'm indifferent to the child's needs. For heaven's sake, Gouzou, my medical background is a bonus, you've got to admit. If something were to go wrong – which I doubt it would – she'd be in very capable hands."

Maguruma's smile had shifted into wry observation. "Not everything is about you, you know."

Akabane was about to demand a more satisfactory answer when movement to the side caught his attention. "Hold that thought," he murmured, letting his eyes slide over towards the escalating stairs.

Maguruma's eyes followed his gaze. "Well, well. Looks like our boys decided to come to us for a change."

Akabane usually took on Sakaguri's jobs because they almost always came with ready prey. The opposition this time consisted of four men, not a large enough group to attract most people's attention, but large enough that they wouldn't go entirely unnoticed at the late hour. They were dressed in identical dark suits and sporting matching shades. Likely yakuza, but more likely protectors – yakuza favored flashier attire, the better to stand out from the common citizens. These thugs could pass for corporate executives.

"Shall I go and greet them?" Akabane whispered.

"We still haven't seen the contact," Gouzou muttered. He'd stayed slouched in his chair, but his body had tensed upon sight of the approaching rivals. "I hope those toads didn't ice him already."

"The contact can wait," Akabane said, putting his hat back on. He felt alert, calm, ready now to take on the fight. These emotions – if they could be called that – these were welcome. "He's made us wait, so we may as well have some fun, hmm?"

It was nearing one-thirty-four. With only the barest rustle of fabric and creak of chair, Akabane rose from his seat. He ambled toward the panel of video screens that listed each flight's arrival and departure times, which was conveniently next to the escalator now depositing the four opponents on the first floor of the terminal.

Akabane kept his pace slow but steady, making it appear as though he were just another wayward traveler whose flight had been delayed and was now periodically checking the updated information. He didn't look directly at the protectors, feigning the indifference of a passerby, but his watchful gaze continued to track them as they came closer. Likewise, the group had taken notice of him but were making a show of ignoring him, chatting idly amongst themselves as if they thought he was unimportant. But the way their hands stealthily crept into their suit pockets alerted Akabane to the fact that the show was about to kick off.

Excitement thrummed in his blood as his muscles tensed, the scalpels within humming in unified glee. Sakaguri's fights were worth a night's entertainment. Akabane flexed his fingers inside his trouser pockets, calculating the precise moment to unleash the storm.

The men were now within arm's reach. One of them had removed his sunglasses. Akabane veered closer to them, pretending to misstep as if in forgetful thought. His heart was pumping faster. Timing was everything. In these scant breathless seconds before the battle, everything seemed to move dimly, as if in a dream world where time was both stretched eternal and sped at light-warp. He looked up and met the unshielded eyes of the first man in line. They were a startling brown, almost the same shade as Mathilda's.

_Pay attention, fool!_

The unbidden inspiration nearly cost him his opening. The man was already pulling out a pistol equipped with a silencer and the barrel was pointed at Akabane's chest before he caught hold of himself. Jarring his focus into action, he barged forward instead of ducking, and the scalpel quickly relieved the protector of his weapon. It was hard to fire a gun when one had no trigger finger, after all.

"Get him!" the leader cursed while he grabbed his bleeding hand, and the other three charged.

These odds would have been daunting for any single man; not so much so if that man happened to be Doctor Jackal. Akabane turned to the second man rushing him while sizing up the rest. Brass knuckles and battle sticks; obviously this bunch wasn't concerned about leaving a neat crime scene. He whipped aside, neatly avoiding the blow attacker number two aimed at him. Akabane pulled in his arms, crossing them over his chest with his fists bristling knives, and plowed ahead to the remaining protectors. They hurtled past him, but just when he would have flung his arms wide and eviscerated them both at the same time, they jumped and spun head over heels above him, easily sparing themselves.

Akabane had to halt his charge and come about. The protectors were doubling back, joined by the other two. The fingerless man had regained his weapon in his good hand and was fast training it on Akabane, no doubt realizing the futility of aiming for an up-close shot. Akabane pegged him as the most immediate threat. He disliked guns and thought them to be crude, inelegant things despite their effectiveness. Guns took all the fun out of a worthy fight.

He dodged the lashes of fists and batons, zigzagging through the trio's gauntlet, and aimed for the leader. But the man saw him coming and hauled himself out of the way, fast, just as Akabane's scalpels sliced off a chunk of the heel of his shoe. He whirled around for another try but by now the other protectors were on him like a pack of snarling dogs, and he was forced to spin aside as the hot hiss of a bullet whisked across the top of his hat.

Good. This would be a challenge.

_Mathilda wouldn't like this challenge._

_Shut up and watch where you're going!_

Akabane hoped that Maguruma had had the sense to take cover. If the triggerman spotted him it would have been a simple matter to take a hostage while Jackal was occupied by the other three, and the stakes would have become markedly more difficult. But he couldn't spare his partner that distracting thought for safety now. Here came one, two, three protectors circling him in a dance of human tornadoes, and they sprang as one wave at him.

Akabane flung both arms out wide and spun in a full circle, scalpels slashing in a whirlwind of his own to fend them off. But they were too close for the knives to hit on target, and a boot landed squarely in the middle of his chest, pummeling him across the floor in a spray of black coat. Akabane rolled with the force until he had regained his footing, just in time to duck under the swipe of a fighting stick's chain.

Sudden breeze ruffled his hair, and with a start he realized that his hat was gone. Then Akabane registered the whisper of a fired silencer and the gunman's arm sweeping over the room to fix on him for another shot. He bolted for the nearest assailant, trusting that the leader would not risk killing his own men, and orbited the protector as he sought another engagement.

The man obliged him with a strike of the sticks. Akabane let him crack the weapons a few times, studying the pattern so that he could locate a suitable point of counterattack. The man's technique was impressive; this was no mere commoner to the world of shady services. Akabane couldn't find a decent opening, and with some irritation realized that he was being herded back to the others, who were targeting his back. Worse yet, the gunman had evidently decided that a dead body was worth one or two of his comrades' own, and had begun firing rounds that were coming disturbingly close to Akabane's maneuvers. With each shot, the silencer degraded in quality, and now the bullets were rattling the terminal with the sullenness of thunder.

He had to take him out, now, if he was ever going to get a good fight out of this mess. Risking a knockout to the head, Akabane stopped dodging the blows raining upon him to look around and pinpoint the leader. There, back by the waiting area, and not a moment too soon. "Bloody Hurricane!"

The red spiral burst from his hand and churned into a swirling cloud of deadly blades, enough to drive the protectors back as he scattered them like leaves on a pond. Temporarily relieved of the attention, Akabane cleared the vortex and headed straight for the leader. The man had spent his last round and was reloading, jamming a fresh clip into his gun and leveling it dead on Akabane's gut with the furious glare of one who knew his life was hanging in the balance of speed.

He pulled the trigger and the shot pierced its mark in a flash of sparks and screeching electronics – Akabane had blurred out of the path at the last second, and the death's arrow meant for him had destroyed one of the scheduling screens on the opposite wall. The protector cried out and brought his gun to bear for another attempt, but by then it was too late.

Akabane let the barrel of it press against his chest and watched as the man tried to pull the trigger. Only the sibilant scrape of nails and wet flesh sliding off the metal sounded. The protector looked at his disintegrating hand in disbelief, a thin keening issuing from his throat as the severed parts dropped to the floor in a rainfall of red, along with the pieces of his chopped weapon.

"Nice try," Akabane told him right before the J bloomed a scarlet outline across the man's torso.

Dark brown eyes had no reply for him. They had already begun clouding over with the veil of death. A chilling image of that mask superimposed itself over a mental picture of Mathilda, lying so still and silent on the ground. Dark brown eyes, their charming innocence despoiled and clouded over forever, nothing more than just another broken body, a piece of meat for the wormfields...

Akabane almost gasped aloud as his heartbeat actually skipped several paces. What was the matter with him tonight?! He had important business to concentrate on!

He turned to face the others. They had escaped the collapsing eye of the hurricane and were now warily surrounding him, still eager for battle but having learned a lesson in cautiousness. One of them spotted their dead leader, and his lips peeled back with equal parts disgust and fear.

"Shit, it's the Jackal!"

They were edging closer but making sure to keep just out of striking range, now that they knew who their enemy was. Akabane held back a grim smile as they all coiled into a tight axis, everyone alert for opportunity. The welcomes he received seldom varied in their expression. Such was the fate of the outcast, the agent charged with bearing that unwelcome blessing of the tomb. Usually those outbursts were a prelude to the end of the game.

Tonight proved the exception to the rule. Akabane made the first move, knowing that they would now wait for him to come to them so that they could overwhelm him, and if he did the waiting he'd never see any action at all. As expected the trio swarmed him once more, and Akabane evaded the first two while trying to entice the third into a one-on-one match.

The protector wielding the fighting sticks was no fool. He kept Akabane at a healthy distance while both men danced gingerly around each other trying to find an opening for attack. He had to hand it to the protector; the man's skill was flawless. Akabane couldn't see a way past his defenses. The other two protectors tightened their lead at his back and Akabane was forced to fall to one side lest he take a baton or a brass-knuckled punch in a vulnerable area. The prey was not cooperating.

Maybe it was his annoyance with the opponents' aversion, or perhaps it was because he had more things than usual on his mind. Whatever the prompting, Akabane's focus grew weary of watching, waiting. It began detaching itself from the action to wander off to the section of his thoughts that had recently been reserved for his young charge. By the time this job was completed, Mathilda would certainly be asleep for the night, dreaming the ethereal engagements of childhood that all children doubtless imagined in their resting hours.

Or would she? Perhaps even now she lay in bed, silent, still, but awake, patiently waiting for the time when her benefactor would return as he'd promised. That little girl keeping faithful vigil for one who ordinarily had none to do so; it would truly be a shame to disappoint her after he'd given her his solemn word not to abandon her -

Why should it matter whether or not he disappointed her?

_Because she was first to come to me. She trusts me. I've never had anyone do that to me before. Not even on a joint mission. Jobs, professional partnerships, those aren't the same as having someone willingly place their fate in my hands and trust that I will fulfill this unspoken request. Especially when it should be apparent by now that I am no gentle shepherd of mortals, but a reaper of them. But why now, why this one little girl? What do I really feel for you besides obligation, Mathilda-chan...?_

_No. No. No, that's not it. I feel nothing beyond what I ought to. She's simply charming, that's all, as children can be when they are properly raised. That's why I must put forth my best efforts to locate your family, Mathilda-chan. Somewhere out there are people you belong with, people who have sacrificed much in order to bring you up in this cold, cruel world. They are capable of caring for you in the way that all children should be looked after; I am not. I can give you the material, what basics any human requires to survive, but I cannot give you what you need to be _alive._ I am a different vessel, meant for unkind purposes. To yoke your shadow to mine is to invite death, and you are far too young and innocent yet for that void. I dispatch none whose time has not been deemed according to fate..._

Fate, however, was eyeballing him with sharp interest. As Akabane grappled with the stick-warrior in an attempt to provoke a sloppy offensive that he could break down, the two protectors circling him moved in. Red-hot flashfire tore open a curve above his right hip and Akabane cried out as he pressed a hand over the wound. Almost immediately the knives descended in a hailstorm of silver and he was rolling, twisting, darting in and out of the group of men to avoid further damage upon his person.

Their courage bolstered from their first blood of the night the protectors surged as a single entity, chasing him before he got very far and surrounding him before he had a chance to catch his breath. Akabane hadn't fully recovered from the shock of his unpleasant jab back to reality, and his disorientation presented enough opportunity for the stick-leader to latch onto him like an oversized parasite.

The crackle of metal chain winding its tension drew Akabane's focus into clear intensity. Vexed at his own woolgathering – how unprofessional indeed! - his anger flared past its restraint. The Jackal was about to become carrion himself, and all he could think of at a time like this was a simpleton's emotional indulgence? No. Oh no. It would not end like this. When he went, he had promised himself long ago that he would go as was befitting his pride, a warrior driven to the brink by a truly worthy opponent. These men, while good at their work, were nowhere near what Akabane considered to be a worthwhile waltz with death.

That wasn't stopping the protectors. The fighter who had cornered him got the end of one baton around Akabane's arm, but before he could twist it to shatter the limb Akabane reached forward with his free hand and slammed the base of his palm up into the bottom of the attacker's nose. Blood exploded over his glove as the man's head jerked back and he pitched backwards, dead – if the scalpels shooting out of Akabane's hand hadn't done the job, he had surely perished the instant the smashed bone of his nose had been driven into his brain.

The two protectors at his back had closed in with weapons raised, figuring that their new leader would succeed in disabling the prey. When Akabane whipped around instead and lashed out with a booted heel it startled them, and the first took the blow in his forearm with a sickening crack. His scream covered the initial rattle his brass knuckles made as they hit the floor, but the weapon's clattering along the tile lasted longer than the man's outburst, which was promptly cut off by four scalpels raking across his throat.

That corpse out of the way Akabane kicked him aside and fixed the last protector's back with a frigid gaze. "Oh no you don't!"

The man hadn't been about to stick around to see whether the doctor was signing his trademark work. He was scrambling for the closest exit. Akabane scuttled after him, ignoring the burn of the cut in his side. He'd had enough tomfoolery for one night and he would not be denied.

Sensing trouble the protector stopped running and spun, striking with the bite of his dagger where he expected his enemy to be. Only keen reflexes spared Akabane impalement on that fang, and he countered with a swipe of his own blades. Metal clanged against metal before withdrawing in a cold hiss as the weapons scraped together, only to rejoin in repetitive echo as the two men battled for the upper hand.

"You started this," Akabane said through gritted teeth – the pain in his side was seething now - "and now you're going to finish it, one way or the other!" He spotted the blood on the other man's knife – _his_ blood, he realized – and that vivid reminder of his lapse into weakness spurred him forward on another angry charge.

"Bastard!" the protector spat while he dodged the lunge and parried Akabane's scalpel with his knife, as their fight progressed back towards the escalator ascending to the second floor. "Why don't you just take your cargo and go already!"

"This is what I do," Akabane replied coldly, flicking his blade alongside the man's arm and scoring a cut of his own, though not a lethal one. They were taking the mobile stairs no less than two at a time, heedless of its grated surface that could catch and snare a clumsy foot. "If you didn't want to die you should have thought twice before crossing my path."

As yet the grave did not hold quite enough terror for the man, for he pressed his assault anyway, hacking at his enemy with renewed vigor. Akabane was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with the pace of the knife-strikes, a fact which he blamed on his injury. _Ride with the pain,_ he ordered himself, channeling that raw emotion into a tool more suitable for his use: a cold locus of control to drive him through the worst of it and hunt down this challenger.

It was working. On solid ground again, the man was beginning to tire, beads of sweat rolling down his face in faster trickles the longer their fight went on. He couldn't disengage and Akabane would grant no quarter, and one missed block was all it took to send the protector's knife clattering across the tiled floor of the terminal.

Incredibly, the man didn't stop. Akabane paused to draw in a quick breath before delivering the coup de grace', waiting to hear the panicked pleas for a nonexistent mercy, and the protector sprang at him, jabbing his fist into the site of Akabane's wound.

The blossom of agony spreading throughout his body was enough to rob Akabane of enough breath to propel the scream in his throat outward. What came out was a choked growl, and then he really was struggling to breath when a hand clamped around his neck and squeezed.

His back struck something flat and Akabane realized he was pressed up against the glass barrier tracing the overlooking floor from above the first. The protector had gotten his bearing and was forcing himself against Akabane's body, keeping him pinned in place while he tried to finish him off. Red and black alternated in flashing patterns in the corners of his eyes, and Akabane fumbled with his hands behind him for purchase. Two scalpels did the trick and a section of glass slipped away from the barrier, and then it was the protector's turn to scream when his own momentum carried him past Akabane as the two men grappled for leverage.

Akabane hooked a handful of knives into the tile and managed to prevent his own fall. The price was another tearing sensation in his side and he couldn't hold back a groan. He swung his good arm around and stuck another couple of prongs into the floor, trying to pull himself back up, but it was difficult without a toehold of support.

Fortunately a big hand wrapping around his forearm spared him the indignity of having to resort to simian-like acrobatics. Maguruma braced himself on the floor and hauled his cohort away from the precipice.

Akabane's first instinct was to curl into a wretched ball and nurse his injury, but he'd spotted a second pair of shoes behind Maguruma, and he looked up to see a very nervous man clutching the briefcase that Sakaguri had asked the transporters to deliver.

The man spoke, his voice a shaky whimper. "Is he – is he dead?"

Akabane staggered to his feet instead of crumpling and cast a glance below at the ruins of his fight. The last protector lay sprawled on the first floor, a broken windmill of a body surrounded by a scarlet cloudburst from the impact.

He looked back to Maguruma and the client with a restrained hiss. "It's about bloody time."

--

TBC


	9. Words wounds and hungry retrievers

Greetings, all! Sorry it's taken me so long to update (pesky real life!) but rest assured, I haven't forgotten about the fics. :) It just takes me a little longer these days, is all. Many thanks to you, dear reader, for your continued patronage.

This update comes with a bonus: I invite you to go to my InsaneJournal (link's in my user profile) and see the BEAUTIFUL sketch of Mathilda that the wonderful Kemurikat was kind enough to draw for me! :) (For some reason FFnet's not letting me post the original link!)

Title: The Keeper's Watch (ch. 9)

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

"It's not dripping on the seat, is it?"

Akabane gritted his teeth. "No, Gouzou, your precious upholstery is still in pristine condition."

"It's not the upholstery I'm concerned about, it's you." Maguruma spared the road a short glance to check out his passenger. "If you're bleeding more than you can handle, it means I better haul your ass to the nearest hospital."

"I'm fine," Akabane said curtly, holding back a wince when the seat beneath him proved that the truck had rolled over a particularly rough patch in the asphalt. "Just let's get Mathilda and get to my apartment so that I can sew this thing up."

"Don't let Suzume see that, or she'll never let you hear the end of it."

Akabane glared at the driver, and it was on the tip of his tongue to snarl _this is all your fault, Gouzou,_ for his having planted a few treacherous thoughts into his mind that flourished with distraction. But it wasn't Maguruma's fault. He hadn't been the one wielding the knife, nor had he been the one exhibiting gross inattention at a crucial moment.

No, the fault belonged to Akabane. He'd allowed that breach of barriers, let the words sink in and rot where they would do the most damage when he should have known better. Such carelessness was inexcusable. Akabane had sworn off emotions for a very good reason: they were useless things, humiliating weaknesses that could bring death if not banished.

The shame of having fallen victim to this curse irritated him almost as much as his mistake. He was not weak. Not a fool. This would not happen again, he would see to it. "Where was that pickup anyway? He certainly took his sweet time to find us."

"I found him," Maguruma said. "When you invited your partners to dance I figured one of us had better move the briefcase before those guys got any bright ideas. Pilots had a problem with some landing gear so traffic was being kept in a holding pattern till it was resolved. He'd just cleared the gates when I got to him."

"Dreadful little weasel," Akabane said, grimacing at the fresh memory of the man's nasal whine as they'd transported him and his cargo to the desired address after leaving Haneda. "Sakaguri must be breaking in new help to be entrusting that one with his business. Anyway, it's out of our hands now. We did what we were contracted to do."

He looked down at his side where he was holding a clean rag soaked in antiseptic against the wound. The bleeding had lessened, but there was still a jagged swatch of torn flesh carved from his hip all the way up to the lower half of his ribcage. The pain was a dull sizzle every time he moved. Akabane bit his lip and pressed the rag to the wound again.

"Nicked you pretty good, did he?"

"Have you ever noticed," Akabane grumbled, "that I always get these types of injuries from lesser fighters, and never from the ones I most want to engage?"

"Well, no one ever said life was fair," Maguruma observed wryly.

"That's not even the worst part of it," Akabane said. "It happened because - " He froze then, realizing that he was opening his mouth far more than he ought to. Maguruma didn't need to know that he'd almost slipped into the quicksand of his own foolish emotions. "Never mind. The man simply got lucky, as they sometimes do. That's all."

"Hn," Gouzou said, but had the sense not to pursue it further.

Just as Akabane had predicted, by the time they pulled up outside the Maguruma house it had passed well into the late hours of the night. Both of them were tired and ready for a good rest; however one more chore remained to be attended to, and then they could ease into their respective beds with the quiet satisfaction of another job well done.

"You sure you don't just want to crash here for the night? I know your place isn't that far from mine, but you look ready to tumble out the door," Maguruma said as Akabane, mindful of disturbing his wound, slowly got up and opened his door.

"No, much though I appreciate the offer. We've infringed on your good graces long enough and I need to conduct other business as long as I'm staying in the city. I'm sure there'll be another time when I'll need to call upon your assistance."

"Okay, but let me help you with the kid. You look after that hole in your hide."

Akabane would have preferred to handle things himself, but he was too tired and hurting too much to protest. "Thank you."

The house itself was quiet; Suzume and the Maguruma children had long since retired to bed. The guest room had been turned into a temporary den for Mathilda, and just as Akabane had suspected, she was huddled fast asleep beneath the blankets on her bed. While Gouzou scribbled a short note to his wife to let her know of his whereabouts in case she awoke, Akabane gathered up Mathilda's and his things in the duffel bag and placed this by the front door. He returned to the room and met Maguruma in the hall.

"I'll carry her, you take the bag I set by the door."

Mathilda did not stir when Akabane carefully lifted her free of the bedcovers. He'd anticipated the strain of holding an awkward burden and had paused to bind his wound with an extra rag Maguruma gave him. Now, with the cloth tied firmly around his waist, and Mathilda balanced against his good side, Akabane shuffled her winter coat around her until she was properly covered from the cold air outside. Thus equipped, he and Maguruma made for the front door and the truck, the heater of which Gouzou had thoughtfully left running.

It was less than a fifteen-minute drive to the apartment that Akabane kept when conducting extended trips to Shinjuku. Maguruma made him promise to give him a call tomorrow morning to ensure that all was well before wishing his passengers a good night and driving back home. Akabane carried Mathilda in one arm and the duffel in the other, doing his best not to falter as he entered the building's lobby. The night staff patrolling the desk thankfully took no notice of his slightly paler than usual complexion and the big rip in his coat; he'd wrapped his makeshift bandage beneath it to hide his injury as a precaution.

Usually Akabane took the stairs up to his place, but tonight was not a night for unnecessary exertion. He went to the elevator and pressed in a number on the keypad, and in moments they were ferried to the fourth floor. A few minutes later, Akabane was ruffling through his pockets for the keys to one door.

It had been a while since last he'd been here, but there were no musty smells or disorganization to greet him upon entrance. Once a month he employed a cleaning service to come here and dust and wash accordingly, so that the place was always kept in decent condition for his arrivals. Akabane mentally filed the thought that he would have to procure something for his and Mathilda's breakfast first thing tomorrow morning, as the pantry and refrigerator were both emptied each time he left in order to avoid spoiling stores.

Akabane dumped the bag by the couch and took Mathilda to the second bedroom. Her winter coat, he draped on a chair, and laid her on the bed. Drowsiness was setting in but he batted it back, resisting the allure of his lowering eyelids at the sight of a comfortable mattress. He pulled the covers and blankets up around Mathilda, making sure that she was tucked in securely and glad that he'd had the foresight to purchase warm winter pajamas for her.

Throughout all this she never once woke, never made a sound. Akabane allowed himself a small smile at the sleeping child. "Good night, Mathilda-chan," he murmured. "At least one of us had a good night."

Not strictly true. The fight had been decent enough, and he'd certainly learned the value of paying attention. Still, by his standards, it was a disappointment of a job.

Akabane left the little girl to dream in peace and went to his room. He checked the dresser and pulled out a pair of pajama pants and some underwear, then tugged off his coat and hung it in the closet. He would deal with its damage later.

He took the sleepwear to the bathroom and shut the door. A cursory inspection showed that his work clothes were a complete loss – they could be repaired well enough to function as secondhand garments, but Akabane never wore shoddy attire; it was unprofessional. The clothes would be laundered and retired to the donations bag that he kept on hand for the rare instances when his wardrobe was damaged in battle.

He stripped off the ruined fabrics and tossed them into the bathtub, stoppering the drain and running cold water to fill it in order to soak out the bloodstains. Detergent would do the rest later. His belt had also been severed by the protector's knife and was useless, so he threw that into the trash. Thank goodness he kept spare clothing here for these kinds of circumstances. There was a belt exactly like it coiled away in his dresser drawer.

Akabane ran the shower in the stall next to the tub and spent a few minutes under the soothing spray, hissing only when the water nipped at the reddened wound in his side. The rhythm of the spattering water also served as a comforting wipe of his mind, settling a pleasant blank over his restless thoughts and calming him.

The night hadn't been so bad, save for this one minor grievance. Tomorrow it would be healed, and no more than a memory. And by nightfall Ban Midou would come to visit, and they would share a pleasurable respite from the rigors of their respective duties. That thought cheered Akabane. Regretfully, he hadn't thought to photograph the injury he'd received for posterity, but a well-illustrated story could be just as entertaining.

The water was no longer running pink into the drain, so Akabane turned it off and stepped onto the bath mat, pulling forth a towel from the wall bar to dry off. That done, he combed out his damp hair and put on his underwear and pajamas, lowering the waistbands of both well below his injured hip. He went to the medicine cabinet and sifted through the contents, picking out what he would require for a patch job.

Impromptu surgery on oneself was difficult; not quite as tricky when one was trained in the art of performing such tasks. Even so, it took Akabane the better part of a half-hour to stitch himself back up and dress the wound in antiseptic cream. He was used to having sharp implements poke through his flesh only in strategic areas. The bathroom soon contained a few scattered but quiet curses – the only time when Akabane considered it acceptable to indulge in such profanity.

Finally the stitches were finished and he snipped the thread, lathering on some more cream for good measure. This he covered with several large adhesive bandages, adding on some extra wound tape just in case. He would be sore for the rest of the night, but hopefully by dawn the worst of it would have receded and he could remove these dressings. The surgical thread would dissolve easily on its own.

Sighing, feeling the weight of slumber's call more than ever, Akabane nonetheless took time to replace his instruments in the medicine cabinet and wash the blood and cream off his hands. He opened the door and stepped out into the hall, just about to switch off the bathroom light -

- and there was Mathilda, standing in front of him with her ever-silent gaze.

More startled by the child's appearance than he let on, Akabane studied the girl for a second before speaking. "It's all right, Mathilda-chan. Didn't I say that I would come back for you? Maguruma brought us to my apartment while you were sleeping. Do you need to use the lavatory?"

She didn't respond. Akabane suddenly realized that she could see the bandages on his torso, and silently chastised himself for not bringing a robe with. He hadn't meant to frighten her with his ghastly adornment.

Mathilda's eyes met his. She was frowning now. She came closer to him and said, "Akabane-san hurt."

Akabane blinked, several times.

Mathilda continued to look up at him with a pucker in her brows.

Still disbelieving that she'd actually spoken for the first time since coming under his care, Akabane regarded her with a curiously wary stare. He knelt carefully on the floor, keeping the grimace off his face as his movements aggravated the wound in his side. "It's all right, Mathilda-chan. It's just a scratch. Nothing to worry about. I put bandages on it and by tomorrow it will be as good as new," he said, indicating the spread of tape over his side.

Mathilda ignored his explanation and ventured still closer, right up to him. She stretched out a little hand and placed her palm over his shoulder. "Akabane-san hurt," she repeated.

It was then that Akabane realized she was talking not about the recent addition to his ghoulish mortal gallery but about the huge division that ran over his left shoulder and down along his back and chest. The longer she stared at it, the deeper her frown became, and the gentler her touch, as her small fingers traveled down the roughened scar tissue over his left pectoral.

Akabane frowned as well. Her tone had not been one of disgust or fear, it carried a clear disapproval – not of whatever activity he'd engaged in to earn it, but of the very fact that it existed at all, that someone had inflicted this mark upon him against his wishes. To a child, perhaps that idea was anathema to an innocent's sense of justice. But why should she care whether he suffered pain when she didn't even know him?

Mathilda looked at him, and he at her. She was not frowning now. Her eyes were clouded with hints of bright moisture. "Akabane-san hurt," she said again, and this time her voice held mourning in its quiet pitch.

Unexpectedly a well of stinging dampness arose in his own eyes, and Akabane forced it back. His throat worked for a moment or two as he sought words to quell her unease. "Not any more, child. It was a long time ago."

Mathilda's eyes lowered as her now-unfocusing pupils signaled a retreat into her etherworld. But she didn't withdraw entirely. She moved in and put her arms around Akabane's neck, resting her face against his collarbone.

A hug.

For the first time in his life Akabane found himself utterly at a loss. This – this wasn't pity, not something that would have sent him into an icy revulsion. Nor did the child herself require comforting, for she made no sound to indicate further distress, and no tears escaped her eyes. Her fingers curled into his hair, and her breath was soft, even, warm against his skin. Somehow...he received the impression that Mathilda's embrace was meant to convey a more profound intention than mere sympathy.

_I am my daughter's keeper._

Startled by that sudden mental improvisation on an ageless Scriptural axiom, Akabane almost lost his balance and toppled backwards. He managed to stay his muscles from action and found himself awkwardly wrapping his own arms around Mathilda to hold her in turn, not knowing what else to do.

This was – well, it was ridiculous. She was not his flesh and blood, although in a sense he might be termed her keeper. Temporarily at that, of course. Fatigue, that malady which had plagued many a medicine man in his time, was doubtless taking advantage of his weariness to conjure all sorts of unusual plots in his head. Akabane took a few deep breaths. He was fine. He was in control. That little hard lump in his throat was probably just from not having had anything to drink in a while. That must be why he was feeling this twist of pain in his chest now – dehydration was a most unpleasant affliction.

He started to let go of Mathilda, started to pull away, and she tightened her arms around him and pushed his head down towards hers as if guarding a favorite plaything. She was _protective_ of him, he realized, as he remembered the way she'd clung to his coat when he'd been about to leave the Maguruma house earlier in the day. She hadn't wanted him to go, not because she was afraid, but because she was concerned...for him? The idea sent a little quiver through his body, and then he shoved it away by conjuring indignation.

He was the guardian here, not she. Her assertion was amusing, as a child's struggles to mimic adulthood could be, but he did not need protecting, not from her, not from anyone.

"Mathilda-chan," he said, pleased that his voice was calm and collected. "It's very late. We both need to rest. In the morning I will take you out to have some breakfast, would you like that? And then we will go shopping for groceries for our stay here in the city."

Her grip on him slackened, but remained a few seconds longer. When at last her arms finally fell away from him and she looked up Akabane could see that she was tiring faster than he was. Her lids drooped, and her head sagged.

Akabane gathered her against him once more, balancing her against his good side while he carefully rose to his feet. He carried her back to her bedroom, wondering how long she'd been standing there outside the bathroom, if she'd been listening to his muttered musings while he'd repaired his battle damage. Ignoring the complaint in his injured side, he bent over to place her back in bed and drew the covers up to her chin, tucking them around her to provide adequate warmth. One of her hands caught on his, and her fingers folded over his index finger. His eyes flicked to her face, but she was even now dozing away into that mist of slumber. Akabane tugged at his finger, and it came free after a moment.

He paused by the doorway, again feeling the unsettling notion that Mathilda considered herself _his_ keeper. She lay silent in the bed, eyes closed, while he watched her. Akabane held back a sigh, and whispered, "Good night," before leaving her room and closing the door.

He passed by the bathroom to turn out the light he'd left on, and went to his own room. Resisting the urge to fall into the mattress as his body urged him to do, he instead climbed into bed at a measured pace to avoid causing any more protest in his injured side.

A hug.

It had been ages since anyone had hugged him, of all people.

_No. Don't dwell on it, or you'll never be able to sleep. _

_But...she...she cares for – for me?_

Was there any other explanation for it? Protectiveness implied a deep feeling for, an emotion about another. But how? Why? He was not someone that most people had any other strong feelings for besides those of fear and loathing. If she only knew what he did -

_And I suppose you're going to enlighten her?_

_Of course not! I'm not a beast._

_Yes, you are. You're a Jackal._

_Even jackals look after their young..._

_For heaven's sake, will you listen to yourself?! She is not yours, never was. This is what you get for succumbing to the timeless curse of good manners. There is a time and a place for everything and you should never have opened that door when she knocked on it. Now you have a stray on your hands and your schedule must be rearranged to suit her needs instead of yours. Just look at what happened tonight because you let these silly fool's emotions get the best of you. It's as you told Makubex: you are a transporter, not a babysitter!_

Akabane stifled a groan. He hoped he wouldn't spend the night tossing and turning. Willing his mind into silence, he closed his eyes and concentrated on slow, even breathing, projecting only blank darkness into his focus. He had trained himself long ago to maintain an iron control; even so, that skill did not come as easily tonight as it used to.

Within minutes he was sinking into dream-dust, no thoughts whatsoever of Mathilda and her claim on him passing through his unconsciousness.

--

Dawn's light announced itself with the shrill warble of an angry cell phone. Akabane, not yet fully awake, rolled over in bed to swat at the accursed device and instead groaned when the tenderness in his skin reminded him of what he'd been up to last night. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes while focus returned to him in bits and pieces.

That phone was becoming annoying. He snatched it from the nightstand where he'd tossed it, and glanced at the caller ID. Akabane let it ring for another minute as he debated the wisdom of answering Ban's summons. Really, that man had no manners, phoning someone at the crack of daybreak like this. But if Akabane didn't pick up, odds were that Ban would keep calling until he got some kind of response, just to be an irritant.

Akabane held back an impatient sigh and flipped the phone open. "You had better be at death's door or eager for a fight, at this hour."

"As a matter of fact, I am at your door. You gonna let me inside or what?"

Akabane blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Early retriever gets the cash worm," Ban smugly replied. "I got a tipoff from a client, so we're on our way downtown. Figured I'd drop by your place for some quick breakfast."

"You presume much, especially when you wake me prematurely," Akabane said coolly, stifling a yawn. At this time of morning he preferred their games to be on his terms.

"A hungry retriever when he's fed is a happy retriever, and a happy retriever is a horny retriever," Ban stated. "You owe me. C'mon, Jackal, open up before I have to kick in the door."

He'd do it, too. Scowling, Akabane closed the phone without replying and got up. He pulled his robe out of the closet and slipped it on before going to the door to unlock it. Sure enough, standing behind it when he disengaged the bolt and opened it was none other than the infamous Ban Midou himself, complete with cocky grin.

"'Bout damn time," Ban said as he pushed past Akabane without waiting to be invited inside.

Still frowning, Akabane followed him, hoping to head him off towards the kitchen before he realized that Jackal was hosting extra company. He hadn't yet looked in on Mathilda, but he hoped she was and would stay sound asleep until Ban left. That was an explanation he wasn't yet prepared to offer. "If you're seeking sustenance, I'm afraid you won't find any here. I just got in late last night and haven't had time to purchase food stores."

"What?" Ban was already slinging his worn winter coat over a table, rummaging through drawers, tugging open anything that caught his fancy. "Don't tell me I drove all the way over here for nothing. Well, ragging you is half the fun," he chuckled.

Akabane leaned against the wall, watching with hooded eyes as Ban wound a path into the kitchen. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's true." Noting the distinct absence of Ban's other half, he said, "Ginji-kun isn't working with you today?"

"He's waiting downstairs in the car. For some reason visiting homicidal maniacs at their personal domain and accepting their munchies gives him the creeps. I can't imagine why," Ban said with plenty of sarcasm as he affected a fake pose of innocence. "I guess I should thank you for that fruit basket you brought him once. Ever since then all I've had to do to keep him from racking up the doctor bills is say the word 'apple.'"

Akabane allowed a wry smile at that. "You are unnecessarily mean, Midou-kun."

"So I've been told." Ban finally stopped poking through the kitchen once he realized that Akabane had been telling the truth about not having any food. "What's with the extra padding?" He gestured at the bandaging Akabane still wore, which was peeking out from underneath the side of the open robe.

"Souvenir from last night," Akabane said, his voice sliding into chilly territory when he saw what Ban was pulling out of his pants pocket. "You've already pressed yourself by interrupting my sleep. My good graces only extend so far, so kindly refrain from stinking up my apartment with that foul thing."

Ban frowned, but paused in the act of lighting his cigarette. "First cig of the morning is always the best."

"And it will be your last if you disregard my warning," Akabane told him, letting a knife flash into brief view for emphasis. "I thought that you were trying to quit in accordance with Ginji-kun's wishes?"

"I lied. What Ginji doesn't know won't electrocute me."

"Perhaps. But one thing I do know is that if you put flame to that carcinogen-laden pollutant in my home, you won't have to worry about dying from sickness," Akabane said with clear frost.

"Fine, fine, be that way," Ban sulked, but even he had his limits, and getting gutted by an irritable lover who could turn antagonist at any moment was not the way he cared to start off his day. He replaced the cigarette in its pack and returned this and his lighter to his pocket as he headed for the couch in the living area. "Can't say I figured you for the sloppy type, Jackal. He just get lucky?"

"You could say that," Akabane said, likewise returning his scalpel to its proper sheath. He shifted on his feet, silently willing Ban to go away and come back later, when he'd been able to make arrangements concerning Mathilda. His eyes suddenly flew to the side of the couch, where the overnight bag was sitting on the floor. Ban hadn't noticed it yet. Akabane inwardly cursed himself for not having taken the time to hide pertinent evidence before admitting his impromptu guest. This was going to present a problem.

He followed Ban into the living room, managing a gentle tap on his shoulder to gain his attention before the retriever could be distracted by other sights. "If I promise to make sure that you and Ginji-kun are amply fed, will you promise to make it up to me for having imposed your rudeness on me at this early hour?"

"I thought we were gonna take care of that later tonight," Ban said, though he remained fixed in place, his interest drawn by the mention of food.

Akabane managed a warmer smile for his benefit. "I won't be able to take care of anything without proper rest." He stepped closer to Ban and trailed a fingertip along the other man's lower lip, letting it coast down his chin and torso. "I have done my job, now it is time for you to attend to yours. If I send you on your way with the promise of a full stomach, I would like assurance that you will return such generosity in short order. Hmm?"

Ban's eyes narrowed for a few seconds as he processed this, Akabane daring to look directly into the depths of those wellsprings. He knew he could be risking a hypnotic trance, but he was counting on Ban's restless innards to hold sway over the retriever's final decision.

Instinct won out. Ban's face eased into rich satisfaction. "Don't worry, I'll see to it that you get your share of pleasure. Bloodless, mind you. I don't do laundry and it's hell getting those kinds of stains out of my whites. But a Get Backer always finishes his job to perfection, whatever it is. What'd you have in mind?"

"Follow me," Akabane told him.

They had to pass perilously close to the spare bedroom in order to get to Akabane's. He managed it by taking Ban's hand and towing him along with a purposeful stride. One flip of the wallet, a glint of money, and Ban's attention was secured.

"Mind that you don't spend it all at once," Akabane chastised.

Ban fondled the pieces of paper with something akin to rabid obsession. "Breakfast on the Jackal, it doesn't get any better than this," he cackled, wadding up the cash and stuffing it into his pocket.

"Don't get too used to it," Akabane said, carefully escorting him out of the bedroom and towards the apartment entrance, picking up the other man's coat along the way to hand to him. "You're lucky I'm so fond of you. A lesser person would have been dead at the first ring of my phone."

"My old lady always said I never did know when to let sleeping jackals lie," Ban sassed back as he shrugged on the coat. Then, without warning, he grabbed the back of Akabane's head and dragged him in for a fast, hard kiss. "We still on for tonight?"

It took Akabane a second to reorient himself. Ban's mercurial actions almost always left him in a constant state of surprise. He supposed that was one of the reasons he enjoyed the retriever's presence so much, letting him skate along thinner ice than what most mortals would have dared with Doctor Jackal. Allowing for a little smile, he replied, "Yes, unless my business requires further extension." He paused, thinking. "I'm to keep an appointment with a client this morning, and then I need to meet with an informant of mine. But I don't expect those tasks should take any longer than normal daylight hours." Akabane paused again, then added, "And by the time you return there will be plenty of food stocks to keep you occupied."

"That's what I like to hear," Ban said, his cheshire grin widening as he stepped through the exit. "All right, I'm outta here. Be good and try not to kill anybody today, you hear?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Akabane returned, swiftly closing the door on him before Ban could get in a caustic retort about his lover's activities.

He waited until the muttered stream of obscenities he could hear had faded down the hall. Suppressing a chuckle at his lover's irascible temperament, satisfied that he'd gotten in the last word, Akabane turned around to go back to the kitchen and came face to face with Mathilda. The little smile on his lips froze.

Quickly he composed himself. The child was standing motionless, still in her blue nightgown. Her gaze was level and no sound issued from her mouth, but somehow that simple stare managed to convey a taut displeasure simmering beneath her calm facade. Akabane was puzzled, then flustered, and finally irritated by the feelings of the former two thoughts. It was as if he'd been caught at some naughtiness like a ridiculous schoolboy. Since when did he have to answer to anyone? Yet Mathilda's eyes held him in merciless accusation.

Let her glare. He would not tolerate insolence from anyone, least of all this youngster. Up to now she had been nearly a perfect model of behavior. Akabane hoped that wouldn't change, not just for her sake but his own as well. An obedient charge was of course easier to handle, but he would have been quite disappointed to discover that this one contained a taint of rebellion. If – no, _when,_ he corrected himself – _when_ he found her family he wanted to be able to report that she had been nothing less than an exceptionally delightful companion, one whose conduct was a clear credit to her proper upbringing.

He produced a light smile to put her at ease. "Good morning, Mathilda-chan. I didn't hear you get up. I do apologize if I woke you. Or, rather, I suppose that would have been Midou-kun's fault. He is rather loud. We were discussing business - " He broke off, not sure why he was bothering to explain himself to the girl. He shook his head. "Never mind. I trust that you slept well? You must be hungry. Why don't we get dressed and I'll take you to a nice cafe I know here in the city?"

She offered no resistance when he led her back to the spare bedroom and told her to wait. Akabane returned to the living room and picked up the duffel bag he'd carelessly left by the couch. Thank goodness he'd beaten Ban to the metaphorical punch on that one. Akabane still wasn't certain how he was going to handle his lover's visit and juggle Mathilda at the same time in the same place, but he knew he would devise a method somehow. He needed an outlet for release and Ban was perfect for what he had in mind.

Back in Mathilda's room – _no, don't think of it that way, _he cautioned himself, _you're starting to sound as though you're attached, so discard that silly notion right now before you have a problem_ – back in the spare bedroom (there, that sounded much better) Akabane unzipped the bag and sorted through its contents as he chose clothing for the little girl. He hadn't kept up to date on the weather since yesterday, but an earlier glance through the living room's window had confirmed all he needed to know about the temperature. Another gray day, another bluster of hinted-at snow that might or might not materialize depending on nature's mood.

After laying out her wardrobe on the bed and withdrawing her toiletry items from the bag, Akabane took Mathilda into the bathroom and helped her brush her teeth, wash her face and comb out her hair. They returned to the spare room, where Mathilda was promptly attired in a long skirt and sweater. Akabane finished rolling up her socks along the length of her calves and leaned back on his knees to have a look.

"You look very Christmassy, Mathilda-chan." She did – the deep red velvet skirt and the dark green sweater were a perfect match for her. Akabane reached up and adjusted the fold of the white collar of the shirt she was wearing under the sweater. "Very good. Now, if you will wait a few minutes, I shall see to my own adjustments, and then we can be on our way."

It took slightly longer for him to prepare himself than it had for Mathilda, only because Akabane was yet again stopping to question his sanity in taking on this uncharacteristic assignment. Why was it that Mathilda made him feel so...so...out of place? As if he were...human? Vulnerable? Akabane didn't like feeling that way, and he wished he could compel his thoughts into their usual self-assured focus. Seeing her up close, holding her small hands and guiding her fragile limbs along, had immediately brought back the memory of last night's embrace.

She was so young, so innocent. Yet she bore the soul of an ancient, what with her solemn demeanor and regal behavior. And – she'd spoken to him, for the first time since he'd found her. He remembered the lament in her tone - "Akabane-san hurt" - and realized then that she might not even have meant the actual wound itself, but another, unseen injury from ages past that had cut far deeper than his scar. But she couldn't have known...

...could she?

Of course not. He was just being foolish. Sentimental. No place for that in his life.

Unconsciously he placed a hand atop his left shoulder as he looked into the mirror hung over the dresser, letting his fingers trail down the thickened tissue running a serrated edge down his bare chest. His hand stopped above his pectoral, where beneath muscle and tissue and bone beat the source of his lifeblood – his weapon.

He'd hurt, once, a long time ago, in a place that now only existed as a buried compartment in his carefully-tended memory. He'd sworn since then that such would never, ever happen to him again. Mortality carried with it many risks but none so dangerous, so lethal, as emotions and feelings.

Mathilda cared about him, and he'd been stupid enough to let her grow close. This was a grave mistake that must be remedied. He would not permit himself the childish luxury of letting this little girl breach the fortress of his heart. He had none. Doctor Jackal had none. That was as it ought to be, for him, the most merciless of all transporters.

_Grieve not for me, Mathilda-chan. I don't need condolences, don't want any comforting. I _chose_ my path. It is where I belong and what I want. Your fate has no bearing on mine._

Akabane forced all thoughts of the girl and her concern for him out of his mind. He removed the dressings over his wound and inspected it, pleased to see that the majority had all but vanished. Only a thin pink line stretching over his skin gave claim to its existence, and soon that too would disappear as his body finished healing itself.

He finished dressing and went to her room – damn it, he was doing it again – the _spare_ room, to collect her. She cooperated as she always had, sitting still and silent while he put her shoes on, and then her winter coat. An edge of black was poking up out of the overnight bag: her hat. Akabane was tempted to stuff it back inside the bag where he wouldn't have to look at it – why had he even bought it for her when it was naught but a frivolous purchase? - but hesitated when he thought of the chill outside. He would be remiss in his duties if he let the child catch cold from no head covering.

Akabane plucked the hat from the bag and settled it atop Mathilda's head, restricting his thoughts to those of seeing to her welfare and avoiding ideas of how nicely hats suited her curious personality. He secured his own coat and hat, making a mental reminder to himself to have the rip in the former repaired as soon as he could spare the time.

En route to the cafe for breakfast after locking up the apartment Akabane took out his phone and placed a call. He hit voicemail first and left a message, confident that the recipient would return his summons shortly.

He was not disappointed. In a few minutes his phone started chirping, and he flicked it open once more to confirm the connection. "Himiko-san. It's very nice to hear from you. I do appreciate your timeliness in returning my call."

"What's the job?" Her voice was somewhat tired, but alert. Himiko liked knowing exactly where she stood, which was why she was often so abrupt with people, and her focus on professionalism could easily be mistaken for rudeness or impertinence. Only someone who had worked with her for as long as Akabane had would be able to discern this facet of her character.

"Strategy, for the moment." Akabane paused, relishing his words. "I have a plan for beating the Middleman. Call Maguruma, find out when he takes lunch and have him pick you up. I would like the both of you to meet with me today."

"You're that sure, are you?" Himiko was clearly doubtful of their enemy's weakness. Still, she had a vested interest too in seeing the Middleman disposed of, her being a transporter and therefore a potential target. "All right, I'll ring you back when we're on our way."

"Thank you." Akabane concluded the call, pleased that business was shaping up to go the way he wanted. He felt better when immersed in his own agenda; this was familiar ground where he knew his place and purpose. No soft emotions to distract him from his goals.

Mathilda was holding his hand as instructed and continued to toddle alongside him. Akabane glanced down at her, musing over necessary arrangements. He thought he knew of a daycare center down the street from his apartment. He would take her there after they were done shopping for groceries, so that he could meet with his fellow transporters without worry of discovery. Maguruma, of course, was already well aware of Mathilda's presence.

Akabane didn't feel like explaining himself to Himiko, however. She would ask too many questions, possibly threaten interference. Though it might have been a relief to have her take the child off his hands if she felt so inclined, the price he would have to pay for it would cause too much trouble. Besides, this was Akabane's mission. He had started this whole mess, he would be the one to finish it.

_I promised her I would take care of her. I always keep my promises._

_Do shut up. Banality or not, you're making it sound like you care something for the girl, and she isn't even of your own blood. Pathetic._

_She's a fascinating child; I've never met any like her. I can't help but respect her strength, if nothing else. She alone has tread where none other dares. Foolish, perhaps, but admirably bold nonetheless. And fortune has always favored the bold over the meek..._

_Look who's foolish. You're letting her get to you! Remember what happened last night because you were so preoccupied with these sentimental follies. The next time it will be your head that you lose instead of some blood, if you persist in these daydreams. Do you really want Doctor Jackal to go down in memory as having fallen because he was succumbing to the curse of all mortals? That blight on a reputation is unworthy of such a fighter._

_I'm not succumbing to anything. I only want to be certain that Mathilda is given the best care possible while she's in my hands. She's just a child, after all. The transport business isn't a world suitable for children. I may be heartless, but I'm not unnecessarily cruel, certainly not towards one incapable of fighting back. If I fret occasionally, it is only because I care about maintaining my reputation for professionalism._

_As long as you understand that. Maguruma was right, attachment is a dangerous thing and you've let this gone on far longer than it should have. What were you thinking, letting Mathilda stay with you while you're on a hunt?_

_It's amusing, that's all. It's interesting in its own way. Look at the way she behaves around me where most people would have fled. The music she played for me but wouldn't share with Maguruma. The way she tried to prevent me from leaving yesterday to see Janus. Look at what happened last night when I came out of the bathroom and she saw my wounds and hugged me...she even spoke to me for the first time, as if she truly understood what drives me... _

_Child's play, that's all it is! If you're such a professional, then prove it and stop dwelling so much on these useless impulses!_

Akabane was able to silence his ruthless inner critic by the time they reached the cafe, and sat down to place their order. But when breakfast arrived and Mathilda wouldn't eat, both emotional conflicts seized him full in their jaws with nary a scrap of mercy.

--

TBC


	10. Plans amidst guilt

I live! Fear not, I haven't forgotten about this or my other fics. :) MANY many thanks to all of you who've read and/or commented – I might not always be able to reply to comments, but please rest assured that I enjoy and treasure them all.

Wishing all of you a happy, healthy and safe 2010 with much goodness! :)

Title: The Keeper's Watch (ch. 10)

Author: Amethyst Hunter

Rating: R (violence, adult content)

Warnings/Spoilers: See above.

Notes: I'm not quite sure where this one came from, but I like the idea so I'm going with it.

According to Wikipedia, per the language of roses, a purple rose is said to mean protection.

Also, the name **Mathilda** (sometimes spelled **Matilda**) is of Teutonic derivation, from words meaning "might, strength" and "battle" (alternatively, "strength in battle") – and as we all know, our darling Kuroudo has a fondness for such attributes..!

Disclaimer: GB and its loverly transporters sadly aren't mine.

Summary: Akabane has his hands full chasing after a battle prospect, and when a mysterious visitor appears on his doorstep, he's left to play sitter while trying to stay one step ahead of a deadly adversary.

--

Intent as he was on keeping his mind away from sensitive subjects, and fixed upon his plans to obtain a showdown with the infamous Middleman, Akabane didn't notice right away that Mathilda wasn't eating her food. It was only when he had polished off a third of his meal that he realized the little girl sitting opposite him wasn't doing anything besides staring blankly at the plate resting in front of her.

"Mathilda-chan? Best eat before it gets cold, little one."

No response.

Akabane frowned slightly. Surely she had to be hungry. "Mathilda-chan. Please start eating your breakfast. We have a busy day today. I need to buy us some groceries for tonight."

Still, nothing. Mathilda did not move, did not acknowledge his words with so much as an eye-blink.

Akabane's frown deepened. Was she sick? He put his utensils down and reached out a hand to touch her forehead, sweeping aside the bangs of her hair. A little warm, perhaps, but nothing unusual for a child's temperature, and wasn't the inside of this place a tad on the heated side anyway? "Mathilda-chan, do you feel unwell? Does your stomach hurt?"

He got neither confirmation nor denial to his questions. No news might be good news in its own way, but Akabane was not content to accept the lack of a definitive report. He picked up the girl's fork and slid a small blob of scrambled egg onto the tines, holding this up in front of her lips. "It's very good, I assure you. Please, eat."

Mathilda's mouth remained shut; she wasn't even seeing him or the offered food, but was ensconced firmly in her otherworld. Akabane withheld a sigh and lowered the fork. Something wasn't right here, but he didn't know what.

If she was sick he couldn't very well drag her out and about, or leave her in someone else's care. Yet she was showing no questionable symptoms of illness. What was he supposed to do? Relax, he told himself, one missed meal wasn't the end of the world. Children were fickle in their dietary habits. There was nothing wrong with Mathilda not wanting to eat breakfast.

But some illnesses, he knew from experience, could strike a patient without warning and do devastating damage. Also, it made no sense that a seemingly healthy child would just suddenly refuse food when there was clearly no reason to. The thought of Mathilda suddenly taking sick with something acute sent Akabane's mind into turmoil. He was startled to discover that the mere idea of losing her gave him a kind of panic he wasn't accustomed to experiencing. What he couldn't comprehend, he couldn't fight back against, and what he couldn't fight could well drive him to desperation.

_I just don't want to fail this job, that's all. Neglectfulness is as dangerous as conscious abuse._

_You're not neglecting her; you've done far more for her than anyone would have had a right to expect from you. Calm down._

_I am calm. I just don't like the thought of her going hungry._

_She won't starve from skipping breakfast._

_But it's not good for her._

_Why should you care as long as she stays alive?_

_Because I don't want her to suffer discomfort._

_Why not? A little discomfort never killed anyone. This isn't torture, it's just one missed meal. It's not as if you're refusing her nourishment; she's the one who's chosen not to eat._

_But...it's not proper._

_Why are you so worried over what's proper?_

_Because - _

_You don't _care,_ do you?_

_But I - _

_DO YOU?_

Akabane felt a damp chillness waft across his skin and realized he had broken out into a slight nervous sweat. He snatched up his napkin and dabbed at his forehead, trying to still the maelstrom inside with several deep, slow breaths. This was nonsense. It could not be allowed to progress any further; the rules he chose to abide by in his life had been set with very good reason. Now he was reaping the penalty for having broken them.

The cafe was modestly busy, with a few regulars and some new customers conducting morning conversation as usual. Outside, the steady noises of the streets purred along, the volume increasing only for moments as patrons came and went through the opening doors. All this sound registered as barely whispers for Akabane in his concentration.

"Mathilda-chan." Again, he picked up the fork with its speared egg and gently nudged it against the child's closed lips. "If you don't eat something, you'll be hungry all morning."

His advice went unheeded. Mathilda's mouth continued to stay steadfastly closed against two more light taps of the fork. She didn't even seem to notice its presence, or that of anything or anyone else, preferring her solitary inner confinement to outside stimulation.

Akabane withheld a breath of frustration. Well, there was no help for it – if the girl didn't want to eat, nothing on earth could make her and it was pointless to press the issue. He stuffed the insistent little crow of worry as far down as it would go in his mind, quietly telling himself that such emotion served no useful purpose and he was better off ignoring it. Mathilda would come around by lunchtime.

_And if she doesn't?_

He worked on the rest of his own food, but it now tasted like dust in his mouth. He made himself eat it all anyway, firmly keeping his eyes on the plate and resisting the urge to glance up at his charge. This was not fear, no; it was simply focus. She didn't seem to be aware of anything, after all, so he needn't bother with the idea that she could be watching him all the while.

The waitress came and cleared their dishes. He requested a small container to take Mathilda's portion home in, and it was given to him along with the bill. He packed up the uneaten breakfast, thinking that it could be reheated later. Once Mathilda was bundled into her winter gear he took her and the takeout container with him to pay for their meal.

They stopped back at the apartment to drop off the leftovers in the refrigerator. From there they walked to a bus stop and waited for the next ride, Akabane mentally listing what stocks he would need for their city visit. He would have to make extra allowances for Ban, being that the retriever's stomach was an infamous bottomless pit. By the time their bus arrived and they'd boarded, he had already plotted which purchases to make, and for whom.

The grocery store was about as crowded as anyplace else this time of year – shoppers looking for ingredients for their big holiday dinners, or bargain-hunters routing out the best deals. Mathilda paid them no heed as her caretaker seated her in a cart and began methodically mining the aisles for items, anxious to complete his task and move on to the next order of business.

Akabane briefly considered offering her choice in the matter as he tried to pick things he felt would make good meals for her. But she showed no interest in him or in the supplies, and he was on a schedule. Midway through the store Himiko phoned again to let him know when she and Maguruma could be expected. Akabane quickly finished his trip and headed to the front to pay.

The bus was late in returning to its pickup point, having been delayed by maintenance issues. It could have been blamed on the weather – the skies were once again threatening gloom, and the salt used by road workers to protect against slippery conditions was known for its corrosive effects on vehicles. Whatever the cause, Akabane was relieved when at last the bus pulled up curbside so they could get back home. He still needed to get the groceries put away and Mathilda safely packed off to the daycare center before his comrades showed up.

Fate cooperated with him on that count and they made it back to the apartment right around the start of the lunch hour. Akabane lost no time in putting away only the perishables and reheating the leftovers of Mathilda's breakfast. But once again, when he placed the dish of pleasantly steaming food in front of her, she made no move to touch it.

"Mathilda-chan. You must be hungry by now. We need to go somewhere shortly, so I'd appreciate it if you'd at least have a few bites."

With her flat expression and unseeing gaze, Mathilda's quiet posture seemed to say she had no concern for his itinerary.

Akabane resisted a sigh of impatience. He scooped up a bit of egg on the fork and tried offering it to her, gently brushing it against her closed mouth, but met with no more success than he'd had this morning in coaxing her to eat anything.

"Mathilda-chan, if you don't eat there won't be anything until suppertime, and I don't know if the sitter service I have to take you to will have any snacks. You'd best eat now," he added, a shade warningly, annoyed with both her refusal and himself, for letting this silent opposition get under his skin. It wasn't as if it really mattered in the grand scheme of things whether she ate correctly or not.

The girl's immobility might have agreed with such philosophy, for she still made no effort to take Akabane up on his advice. He finally let the sigh budding inside his throat escape in a wordless hiss and took the untouched plate away, setting it beside the sink. He could deal with it later.

He checked his pocketwatch; Himiko and Maguruma could show up at any time. Akabane dressed Mathilda in her coat and hat and made a beeline for the daycare down the street. He fixed a polite smile firmly in place and suffered through the director's cheery explanation of how the center worked and what options they offered to parents on a busy timeline. After filling out the necessary paperwork and setting up the hours of Mathilda's stay, he was ready to leave her in the cloying but capable hands of Mrs. Yoshida.

Mathilda promptly latched onto Akabane's trouser leg with a mute vengeance and wouldn't let go, no matter how many times he or the director nicely pleaded with her. Akabane forced another smile and offered an explanation while he attempted to undo the girl's fingers around her fistful of material. "She's just very shy. She's really a very well-behaved child. Only she doesn't speak much."

"I'm sure everything will be fine once she settles in," the director assured him. "We have quite a lot of first-timer anxiety, but they calm down as soon as they've had a chance to adjust." She smiled at the little girl. "Mathilda-chan? It's okay, sweetie. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Akabane refrained from pointing out that it wasn't fear motivating Mathilda's unhappy stance. Indeed, he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that this little creature, stubborn as she was, could be afraid of anything. He finally managed to get his trouser leg unstuck – the child had a grip that would have done Ban Midou's Snakebite proud - and quickly grasped Mathilda's wrists in his hands to keep her from taking another grab at him.

He looked her in the eye, willing her to see him and accept the situation for what it was. "Mathilda-chan, I have to go. I have some things that I need to do and I can't take you with me. Now, I promised that I would look after you. Do you really think that I would leave you with people who wouldn't be good to you? I want you to be a good girl for me and behave for this nice lady. As soon as I'm finished with my business I'll come back and take you home, and then we can have some dinner. Do you understand?"

He didn't wait to see whether his command would garner any response; he wasn't expecting any. To Mrs. Yoshida, he said, "She hasn't eaten any breakfast or lunch so I'm suspecting that she might be feeling a bit under the weather. But I don't think she has anything contagious. Most likely it's just nerves."

"Not to worry," the director said. "Many new children don't eat well if they know they're going to be separated from their parents for a while. We've found that once they get involved in activities and have had some time to relax that their appetites come back shortly. We do have juice and crackers served throughout the afternoon, and there are also hot lunches my assistant makes for the day-goers."

Assured that Mathilda wouldn't go hungry in his absence, Akabane passed her over to the elderly woman. She took the child's hand in hers and led her towards a group of other children about the same age who were playing with some building blocks. Akabane hadn't intended to watch them depart, but as he was ready to walk out the door he happened to raise his head just as the little girl was looking over her shoulder, and he caught Mathilda's stare drilling a sharp hole through him.

_Liar,_ her sullen gaze seemed to say. _You abandoned me too._

Something in him surged at that moment and it was all Akabane could do not to call out, to reclaim Mathilda and go back to the apartment, schedule be damned. He felt stunningly helpless, run through not by any enemy's weapon but by the spike of a child's simple distress. Woodenly he forced one foot in front of the other, made himself turn his back to the scene and leave without a sound.

It wasn't true. He wasn't like Mathilda's real guardians, hadn't ditched her in the middle of nowhere to fend for herself. He'd given her shelter, food, amenities all at his expense, had demanded nothing more than basic manners by way of payment.

And he'd betrayed her trust in him by dismissing her one obvious wish: to spend this time only with him.

Akabane picked up his pace on the way back to his apartment, growling wordless frustration beneath his breath. Damn these wretched feelings swamping him in their midst! He had done nothing wrong! So why was he feeling this confused, this rattled? Why couldn't he seem to get control of his own emotions no matter how hard he struggled to contain them?

_Weak,_ taunted that inner voice again. _Pathetic. Useless. Mortal._

_I left her. I'm no better than her family, whoever they are._

_Stop your sniveling, you fool. She's not scared, you said so yourself._

_But she's alone in an unfamiliar environment. Nobody else understands her like I do._

_As if you're the only person in the world who knows how to care for an orphaned child. You used to care about more important things, remember? Maybe that's why the Get Backers seem to best you so easily. Maybe that's why you can't get close to this Middleman. You're too soft. You waste time and energy on matters out of your league when those resources could be put to better use. What a sorry wretch you are. Hardly worthy of the fearsome reputation you've worked so hard to create. Whipped jackal is more like it..._

Somehow he managed to harden his heart to a cold, crisp stone by the time he got back to the building and spotted Maguruma and Himiko waiting in the lobby. Akabane withdrew into his usual composure, not bothering to offer even a passing platitude to explain his tardiness, knowing that his cohorts were used to his unpredictable habits.

Maguruma got right to the point. He slapped Akabane on the shoulder as they took the elevator up to his place. "I told you to call me this morning. How's that rip in your side?"

"It's fine, Maguruma," Akabane sighed. "You know I've suffered worse before."

"More like the opposition gets the worst of it in that case," Himiko snorted. "I had the TV on this morning. Rough night, I take it?" she asked unsympathetically. The fighting was one thing, but they all knew how much she hated the fact that Akabane killed when it wasn't necessary to do so, not that he cared either way about her opinion of his pursuits.

"They started it," Akabane told her just as mercilessly. "I merely ended it. Isn't that so, Gouzou?"

The big man shrugged, giving Himiko a wry glance. "It's true," he admitted. "We sat in that airport terminal for over an hour waiting to nab our pickup for the client, and then the goon squad came looking for us dressed to kill. And I mean that literally."

Himiko just shook her head without making a sound, knowing that nothing she could say would make any difference in how Akabane treated his opponents.

Inside the apartment he offered them refreshments, which were declined, and he briefly excused himself to shed his coat and hat, and fetch the printout of the map he'd had Makubex make for him. They all gathered at the kitchen table while Akabane opened up the map and explained the situation.

"You can see that the kills to date are circling a particular patch of real estate. Yes, Mugenjou," he added, catching the raised brow Himiko sent him.

"I hate that damn place," she muttered. "Trouble's always brewing there."

"It's the nature of the beast," Akabane said, shrugging. "But if my estimation is correct, it works to my advantage. Abilities are heightened in there, and unless the Middleman enjoys some favor that I'm as yet unaware of, the superiority will be mine. I know the turf, I know the workings, and I can corner him undisturbed. If I have to, I can even request that Makubex corral us into a VR to guarantee privacy."

"Sounds risky," Maguruma said. "Don't those VRs fluctuate because of the energy shifts?"

Akabane smiled, his first genuine one since awakening to Ban's surprise visit. _See how much better it is by focusing on truly important business._ "Everything good in life is always risky, Gouzou. As a general rule the VRs do change, but not if Makubex exerts a conscious control over them. He can manipulate any environment he chooses, so it ought to be an easy matter for him to ensure that the Middleman finds his way straight into my trap." Already he could feel his earlier churlish mood evaporating like mist on the water, his tension ebbing into a pleasant anticipation. This was something worth getting excited over.

"But why Mugenjou? If he wants to make a splash there's plenty of targets in downtown Shinjuku alone that would get enough attention," Himiko said.

"But none as notorious as we are," Akabane said. "And no one besides us really understands the significance of that place. Everyone else goes out of their way to avoid it; they barely even make spoken mention of it if they can help themselves. That's probably why the police haven't bothered to publicize the case beyond what's already common street knowledge."

"Nobody wants to acknowledge a place that officially doesn't exist," Maguruma nodded his agreement.

"Or one that they'd prefer wasn't there, at any rate," Akabane added.

"I don't know. You know what they say about a thing that seems too good to be true," Himiko cautioned. She frowned, started to bite her lip, then transformed it into a thin grimace that could have been either a half-smile or a scowl. "But it's as good a plan as any, I guess." She looked up from the map to Akabane, her eyes clear with all traces of hesitation erased – when she made up her mind to commit to a battle, she did so full steam ahead. "Who's the would-be corpse before the Middleman gets to us?" She tapped the seventh dot marked as a live target on the map.

"Spydra Kintaro. We align ourselves with him temporarily until he gets a call, then we put the word out that the dropoff point is Mugenjou. Except that the Middleman won't be intercepting him when it comes time to ambush the delivery. I'll be waiting for him." Akabane's mouth curled into a subtle, feral delight.

"Might not be so easy convincing him to share runs, even with the threat of the Middleman," Maguruma said. "I know for a fact that he never turns down a trip for the Washu Inn Group, and they hire him like clockwork every holiday. He won't be happy about us crashing his favorite party."

"He also won't be happy about the likelihood of winding up dead," Himiko pointed out. "As long as we make it clear we're there for protection and not out to poach his claim, he shouldn't give us much resistance. Akabane's the one with the real interest vested here anyway – would _you_ say no to Doctor Jackal if he wanted to take out the enemy stalking you?"

They shared a quiet chuckle over that. "I'm prepared to meet with Kintaro-san this afternoon to discuss the proposal. How does your schedule look?" Akabane asked Himiko.

"I'm free for the day. Maguruma?"

"Soon as I clock out at five I can grab the truck and meet you. Spydra knows we're coming?"

"He will," Akabane said, pulling out his cell phone.

He started to punch in the number to access the other transporter's answering service and Himiko said, "Since when do you eat anything with a clown's face printed on it, Jackal?"

He fumbled in his entering of numbers and had to close his phone to stop the wrong call from going through. Akabane looked up to see Himiko holding a can of children's ravioli, part of the groceries for Mathilda that he'd not yet stored in the pantry. "The smaller portions are more convenient to pack for lunches on trips," he said after a moment's thought.

Maguruma caught his eye and raised a brow. Akabane narrowed his eyes in warning. Himiko saw their exchange and leveled them both with a glare. "What's going on here?"

"It's going to come to light sooner or later," Gouzou told Akabane. "Might as well get it over with."

"Get what over with?" Himiko's fierce glower was now fully trained on Akabane.

Maguruma gestured encouragingly at him, but Akabane wasn't about to relent. "What Maguruma is trying to say, and doing a very poor job of it," he said, freezing his tone momentarily to make a point, "is that Midou-kun is far easier to entice if his partner Ginji-kun is likewise as pacified when it comes to empty stomachs."

Himiko looked from the can of ravioli to him, then back again, then set the can on the counter with a wary look at Akabane. She might not have accepted that excuse, but she knew when to let what was clearly a sensitive subject fall by the wayside. "Sure you bought enough? Those two would eat your whole place down if they could."

"I've planned ahead. It won't be a problem," Akabane said, relieved that Gouzou hadn't seen fit to blow his secret concerning Mathilda just now. "Well. Shall I set up our meeting with Spydra?"

"Go ahead. I've got to get back to the dispatch headquarters. Himiko, can I drop you somewhere?" Maguruma offered.

"You can just leave me downtown. I've got some errands to run anyway. I'll stay in the area until it's time to go to Spydra's," she said. Getting up, she pointed at Akabane. "Don't be too rough on Ban tonight. I might need him for a job later this week."

This time Akabane managed to get the number he wanted dialed correctly. Holding the phone to his ear as he listened to the ringing tones on the other end, he said, "I will see to it that Midou-kun has decent functional use of all his limbs."

"Decent by whose definitions," he heard her mumble, but he paid his departing comrades little heed as his attention was distracted by the answering of the other line. While Akabane dealt with Spydra's answering service, Maguruma passed by the other side of the table. He leaned down and mouthed in front of Akabane, "Coward."

A good-natured jibe every now and then was par for the course with them, but this was not a time when such jousting was welcome. Akabane freed a scalpel and pointed it at Maguruma. Gouzou huffed quietly and waved a hand at him, but the message had been understood. He would get peppered by Himiko's questions in Jackal's absence, but he would respect Akabane's desire for privacy and reveal nothing of the truth.

As the driver left to follow Himiko, Akabane concentrated on relaying his business to the answering service. By tonight, plans would have been put into motion heralding the Middleman's downfall, and he, the Jackal, would celebrate with a lover who could appreciate the value of a choice battle.

He spared no further thought for the little girl whose fate also rested in his hands. She meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.

_He was the only person she trusted most in this world, and he'd betrayed her. _

--

TBC


End file.
